Fire and Brimstone
by raisedyoufromperdition
Summary: When a group of fellow survivors takes her in, Liza is drawn to one member in particular. Danger comes along in the form of three men with fire and a truck, and it's up to Daryl and Liza to hunt them down and save the group. Daryl/OC. Slow burn.
1. Anger

Greetings! This is my first attempt at a Walking Dead fic. Hope you enjoy and be sure to comment!

Side note: I went back and changed a few things in the first couple chapters, mainly character stuff to make them a little more IC. Hopefully it reads better now :)

* * *

My lungs were on fire. My throat was frozen from the icy winter air. I'd been running so hard and so far that I couldn't even feel my legs anymore. My skin prickled where the wind scratched its cold claws against it, but the rest of me was drowning in a feverish sweat. The heavy pack strapped to my back wasn't making matters easier, but I couldn't drop it. Everything I had was inside that pack. Luckily the growlers were slow, though the mob following me was massive.

The deserted, tree-lined street seemed to stretch on for miles before me and the growlers kept emerging from the sidelines. I felt like I was running from an avalanche that was nipping at my heels. One misstep and I was dead.

There was a lone growler on the pavement ahead of me. I gripped the handle of my machete tightly as we approached each other at vastly different speeds. One strong swing of my arm decapitated the monster and I kept running. I didn't even dare look over my shoulder. I might trip over something in that single moment of stupid curiosity. Even if I'd lost them miles back, the momentum from the pure adrenaline pumping through my veins pushed me onward and faster. I was starting to run not to escape certain death, but because I hadn't felt so free in a long time. I'd made it this far. I wasn't about to slow down now.

Or so I thought.

There was some sudden event missing from my immediate memory that would explain why I was sprawled out on the ground in the middle of a crossroad, the last second of my speed dragging quickly to a halt as the asphalt broke my fall. My machete had flown out of my hand in some direction or another and was now lying several feet away from me. I scrambled to get up, but the pain in my leg suddenly deadened all my other senses. I couldn't hear. My vision was getting cloudy. I dug my fingertips into the street to try to regain my sense of reality. I was dizzy. What on earth could I possibly have tripped over? I had been looking where I was going and there were no impending hazards in my way.

The tight grip on my upper arm snapped me back to full consciousness as I flailed instinctively in an effort to escape.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah!" The man standing over me tried to calm me down as I successfully wriggled free and fell back to the ground. I blinked through the dust in my eyes, trying desperately to see his face, but all I could see was the wrong end of a loaded crossbow.

"You okay?" he barked, a little out of breath and clearly not concerned for my wellbeing at all. I thought I could hear the distinct rumbling of a Harley nearby.

"I'm fine," I reacted without thinking. I was not fine. I was, in fact, so far from fine that I hadn't even realized the other crippling pain in my left palm. I looked down at my hand to see a jagged rock sticking halfway into my skin. "That's not supposed to be there," I mumbled.

"You tryin' to get yourself killed out here?" the stranger scolded me. He lowered his weapon, but only enough that I could see his face.

"What happened?" I replied as I looked around. There was a motorcycle parked on the side of the road, engine still running. The man in question looked as filthy as me, skin darkened by dirt and blood, greasy hair hanging in his eyes. The black leather vest he wore looked impeccable in comparison to the dirty, torn shirt he wore underneath it.

"Almost killed myself tryin' not to run you over," he answered.

"Sorry," I said, not fully comprehending the situation just yet. I must have hit my head at some point, either against the bike or the ground. Maybe both.

"Lemme see both your hands," he demanded. I held my hands up in surrender, painfully aware of how far out of reach my own weapon was. "That don't look good," he observed, eyeing the rock lodged in my palm.

"Doesn't feel good, either," I replied.

"You got any bandages?"

"In my bag," I said.

"Wrap yourself up and be on your way," he said, lowering his crossbow and turning back to his bike.

"Kinda need some help for that," I blurted out. "Do you mind?" I added when he turned back to me with a scowl.

After a moment's consideration, he gave in and kneeled down before me, holding out an expectant hand. Carefully, I slipped my bag from my shoulders and brought it around for him. He pulled it open and started rummaging through it. He found the tiny first aid kit somewhere in the bottom and unzipped it. There was a piece of gauze just big enough the cover my hand, a small roll of tape, tweezers, band-aids, and some disinfecting wipes.

"Why didn't you keep driving?" I asked as he tore open one of the wipe packets. I had learned the hard way not to trust anyone, no matter how kind and generous they might seem. A strange man with a crossbow ready to shoot me certainly did not fit the possibly-not-a-murderer description. The redneck twang he spoke with didn't help his case, but maybe that was just my liberal, west coast prejudice doing my thinking for me.

"Would you rather I left you as bait in the middle of the road?" he returned.

A sudden sharp pain shot from my palm up the rest of my arm and into my spine. I hadn't noticed him pick up the tweezers and go for the invading rock. I tried to pull my hand away again, but his grip was strong as he pressed the disinfecting wipe against my wound. It made me forget all about the pain in my leg.

"Is it just you?" I asked through gritted teeth, trying to distract myself. "Or do you have a group somewhere?"

"Do _you_ have a group?" he countered.

"I asked first," I replied indignantly.

"What's it to you?"

"I wanna know if I should be worried about getting jumped later," I said.

"Don't worry about us," he replied. "You got nothin' useful in your bag." I must have made a face that projected my sudden fear. "Don't be so paranoid," he added. I couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure me.

"Can you blame me?" I asked.

"I guess you got a point," he surmised. "There," he added when he was done cleaning and wrapping my hand.

"Thanks," I muttered, wiggling my fingers to test the pain. Not too bad once the initial stabbing sensation had dulled to a stubborn throbbing.

"Can you stand?" he asked as he stood back up, offering a hand.

"I think so," I said, ignoring the hand to push myself up. I managed to straighten all the way up, but had to keep the majority of my weight on my right leg as I had fallen directly onto my left thigh and had most likely bruised it deeply. I limped over to where my machete lay and picked it up. There were still bits of rotten skin and spinal fluid from my last kill dripping from it.

"You can barely walk," the stranger commented.

"An astute observation," I replied as I wobbled back over to pick up my bag.

"Suit yourself," he said, turning back to his bike.

"Thanks for the help," I stated.

"See you 'round," he said, and kicked the bike into gear and sped off, leaving me alone again in the middle of the road. I suddenly felt a hint of regret. Would he have taken me in if I'd asked? Would he have let me join his group? No, that sort of thing didn't happen these days. Everyone was out to get everyone else, as if the walking corpses weren't enough of an enemy to deal with. If I had been in his place, I would have kept driving.

In all the dazed excitement I had failed to notice the fact that I had indeed outrun the mob that was after me. No doubt more were on their way, what with the deafening engine on that bike. I hoisted my bag back onto my shoulders and continued down my previous path. I'd have to take care not to limp too obviously in case someone else were to mistake me for a growler.

* * *

The pain was slowly starting to ease up. I wasn't limping quite so dramatically anymore. A few miles down the road I came across a group of dead growlers. That meant there were other people nearby. Maybe it was the stranger's group. Someone who had agreed to help me even though the predicament was mostly my fault couldn't have been that horrible. And horrible people don't usually stick to nice, welcoming groups. If I were to ever see him again, it might just be the luckiest day of my life.

I kept my eyes on the road ahead. It stretched on forever. It was one of those highways between cities that were basically just straight lines connecting point A to point B with several hundred miles of asphalt in between. There was nothing but trees and grass on either side of the road. Where there were no trees, the harsh sun beat down on my face. My skin burned despite the cold air. Nothing was comfortable anymore.

There was something in the road ahead. From my vantage point it was just a dark blob, but I knew that as my distance to it decreased, it would certainly turn into a pack of growlers. I kept walking. Straight ahead. Towards the blob. I knew I should probably take a detour through the trees or stop and rest out of sight for awhile, but something in me pushed me forward. I was angry. Angry at the world for what it had become; angry at my feet for hurting; angry at my hand for letting the rock pierce it; and quite honestly, I was angry at myself for not being a little nicer to the stranger who'd helped me.

I hated the growlers. I hated their absolute refusal to stay dead. I gripped the handle of my machete and drew it out of the holster on my belt. I was going to get some of my anger out.

The blob did indeed turn out to be a pack of growlers. Not only had the world become dangerous, it had become predictable. There were no more surprises. What didn't want to eat you wanted to kill you. I marched forward, the dull growl of the undead clearly audible now. I counted them. Seven. I could take seven growlers.

They were all aware of my approaching presence and had started their gimpy shuffling in my direction. Without a moment's hesitation, I sliced the head off of one, then another, then a third. I had to scramble back a few steps as they were all trying to get at me at once. One of them nearly scratched my face. I stuck the end of my blade directly between its eyes. The soft squish was oddly satisfying. The skull beneath the rotted skin seemed to have the consistency of an orange peel, not hard bone. In the beginning, that sort of thing made me gag. Now it was just like any other mundane fact about existence.

The last three were a bit more aggressive. I swung my blade through the air several times but only managed to knock one down and partially decapitate another. While my attention was on those two, the third locked its spindly fingers around my right forearm. I tried to struggle free but it had quite a strong grip for such a stupid thing. I switched the machete into my free hand and swung as hard as I could. I was right-handed, so my left didn't do much damage, but it knocked the thing off me and freed up my right arm. With one strong swing, number three was down. One and two were dragging themselves over their fallen comrades, trying to get a taste of my ankles. The heel of my boot broke right through the skull of one, and my blade took care of the last.

Out of breath and very much triumphant, I made my way into the trees so I could sit and drink some water. I leaned against a thick tree trunk, my bag on the ground beside me, and chugged as much water as I allowed myself for that day. I could hold off on the rest until tomorrow.

I shoved the bottle back into my bag and let my head fall back against the bark. I hadn't realized how tired I was or how badly swinging that heavy blade had hurt the fresh wound in my hand. Without thinking, I let sleep creep over me.

I wasn't sure if it was just half a dream, but I could have sworn I heard a familiar voice say, "Aw, shit," before everything went dark.


	2. Suspicion

Hello, hello! Here's chapter 2! Read, comment, enjoy!

* * *

There was warmth on my face when I woke up. I stirred slowly, keeping my eyes shut. I was lying on something soft. _That's strange,_ I thought. I slid easily out of my sleep-induced daze and blinked my eyes open. FIRE. I scrambled back, but was blocked by something solid and cushy. I looked behind me. I was on a sofa. Inside a small house. How on earth had I gotten here? I looked back at the fire. It was crackling safely inside a fireplace framed by red bricks and an iron grate. I noticed the rack beside it was missing the fire poker. It was probably being used as a weapon against the undead.

There was a heavy blanket over me that I had partially shoved off in my panicked reaction to the fire. I suddenly realized I'd been sweating and my clothes were damp and clammy. I hated wet clothes. I looked around the room. It was a simple, small living room that looked as though it had been robbed by some very greedy burglars. All that was left was the sofa, a crooked shelf with most of its books still intact, and a low coffee table covered in random papers. There didn't seem to be anyone home, but I didn't want to call out in case the sound attracted the wrong attention. I lowered myself to the floor and scooted closer to the fire. If my clothes were going to be damp they might as well be somewhat warm. My bag sat on the floor at one end of the sofa. My machete was missing. _Shit._ I held my hands close to the grate, letting the heat chase away the cold, then stood slowly.

It was dark outside. The only light in the room came from the fire. I needed to figure out where I was and who had brought me here, but I didn't have a weapon to defend myself in case my host had ill intentions. I remembered the pocket knife I kept stowed in my bag. It wasn't much, but it was sharp. I dug it out and opened the largest blade, which was no longer than my index finger.

I made my way quietly to the doorway that led to the front hall. The door was right there. I could easily get out of here, but curiosity made me decide to look for useful goods first.

I turned the corner and entered the kitchen. Empty, of course. The food had probably been the first thing to be taken. There were a few pots and pans left strewn about. The drawers hung open, relieved of all the sharp silverware. Cupboard doors were wide open, revealing more empty shelves. I opened the refrigerator. The smell that burst out was worse than anything I'd ever smelled before. The light was out and it was warm inside. I immediately slammed the door, no longer interested in what could possibly have been causing the stench.

Defeated, I made my way out of the kitchen and back to the living room. There was no point in staying here. What good was shelter when there was no food or water? I'd be better off outside. I picked up my bag and went to the front door.

I stopped short with my hand halfway to the knob. There were voices outside. Three or four of them. I peered through the peephole. The distorted figures were approaching, carrying large bags full of god knows what. I was about to search for another way out when one of the men came into full view of the door. It was the stranger with the crossbow. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The other two looked just as disheveled as him. I was completely at a loss of what to do.

Crossbowman reached for the door and I bolted back into the living room. Maybe there was somewhere to hide. There was another hallway, probably leading to the bedrooms. If I needed to, I could escape through one of the windows.

I rounded the corner into the hall just as the front door opened. All the doors in the hall were closed. I tried the first one. It was locked. I went to the one at the end of the hall. This one opened and the room was vacant. I shut the door quietly behind me. There was a single bed and a pile of torn clothes on the floor. The window above the bed was big enough to let me out. I set my bag down on the bed below the window and pushed the glass pane up. If anything were to happen, this would be my exit.

I yanked my pocketknife out of my bag and went back to the door. I listened for a moment. They were still talking. Their voices seemed to come from the other side of the house, probably the kitchen. Very slowly, I pulled the door open and tiptoed back into the hall. I waited at the doorway for a moment, thinking. Should I approach them? Find out what they wanted with me? Or should I go back to the window that was ready and waiting to let me go? The pocketknife would be useless against growlers and finding another useful weapon would be a tricky task. I had to get it back. I knew these men must have it somewhere.

I snuck back across the living room and into the doorway of the kitchen. They didn't seem to notice me as they were busy unpacking piles of food. It looked like they'd gone grocery shopping, but that was impossible. They were probably just good at scavenging.

"Hey!" I announced my presence. They all jumped and turned to me in unison. One of them suddenly had a frying pan in his hand. I had my knife raised at them, so the auto-defense wasn't really a surprise. "Who are you?" I demanded.

"This her?" the older one asked crossbowman.

"Yup," he answered.

"Who are you?" I repeated. "How did I get here?"

"Relax," crossbowman said. "You were passed out in the woods. I brought you here."

"Why?" was all I could think of to ask.

"Not so good with the gratitude, are you?" he replied.

I lowered my knife but kept my grip steady. "Where's my machete?"

"You don't need it here. We're holding onto it for now."

"Can I have it back?"

"Not yet," the older one answered.

The third one set the frying pan back on the counter. He looked nicer than the other two and was about my age. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fantastic," I bit.

"Calm down, Liza," the older one replied. "We're not gonna hurt you. We just wanna know who you are first."

I stared at him. "How do you know my name?" I said. "What more could you need to know?"

"I just have a few questions," he said.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

"How many walkers have you killed?" he asked.

Walkers. Interesting name. Everyone called them something different. "I don't know," I replied. "A lot."

"How many people have you killed?"

That took me by surprise. I tried to block out those memories, but now, being forced to remember them, I thought of the seven-year-old boy who'd been bitten, the man who thought I was weaker than I looked, the grieving old lady who, surprisingly enough, had almost killed me. I'd never killed anyone without good reason, even though it made me sick.

"Three," I answered.

"Why?"

"What?" Why did he need a reason?

"Why?" he repeated.

"Because I had to," I replied. "Two out of self-defense and one who got bit."

He thought for a moment about what I had to say. His face was blank. I had no idea if I had the right answers or not. He and crossbowman exchanged a glance.

"I'm Rick," he finally said, turning back to me. "That's Daryl and Glenn."

I looked back and forth between the three of them. Had they just welcomed me to their group? I didn't know how to react.

"How did you know my name?" I asked again, more curious than worried at this point.

"Your ID," crossbowman—Daryl—replied.

"You went through my bag?"

"Yeah?" he said like I'd just asked the world's stupidest question.

I just let it go. I wasn't really in any position to question them when they'd taken me in instead of leaving me in the middle of the woods. I must have really passed out like he said. Usually the slightest noise or movement woke me up, but for him to have carried me all the way here I must have been completely knocked out.

My stomach gave a loud grumble. I hadn't noticed how hungry I was until I saw all the food they'd laid out on the counter.

"How strict are you about rations?" I asked, eyeing the food. It was mostly in cans with the exception of some old potato chips that were probably stale.

"This was the last of it," Rick replied. "If we want more we're gonna have to move. We can make it last a few days, at best."

"You think that'll last a few days?" Glenn asked, eyebrows raised. "We'll probably run out by tomorrow night."

There was enough food to last four people at least a week with small portions. It didn't make sense.

"You're really gonna eat all of that in a day?" I asked.

"It's not just us," Glenn explained. "Two are in the other room and the others haven't gotten back yet."

"Others? How many others?" Someone else had been in the house with me this whole time? I wasn't exactly prepared to meet more people that may or may not take a liking to me. Three was enough.

"There's eight of us all together," Glenn replied.

"I see," I said, unsure. I'd gotten so used to being alone I didn't know how I felt about being around eight other people. That meant responsibility for more than one person, and I wasn't exactly the responsible type. As long as there weren't any kids, I'd probably be fine.

As if right on cue, a baby's cry came from some corner of the house. My face must have given my thoughts away.

"Don't like kids?" Daryl asked, a slightly amused half-smile on his face.

"Is that a baby?" Kids were one thing. _Infants_ were another.

"That's my daughter," Rick said, and went off to go comfort her.

"He had a baby in all of this?" I asked.

"It's a long story," Glenn said. "And it's Rick's to tell."

I nodded, not fully understanding what the hell anyone was doing _reproducing_ in times like these. A baby was basically a noise bomb that could detonate at any second. I wondered if they'd ever been hiding from growlers when it started crying. They were clearly good at fighting and protecting each other. The baby was still alive and well, after all. Truthfully, I was a little impressed.

"Here." Daryl was holding out a can of sliced peaches for me.

"Thanks," I said. I'd never been so excited for peaches before. I still had my pocketknife in my hand, so I stabbed the lid of the can and pried it open. It smelled so sweet my mouth watered instantly. They were freshly picked, homegrown peaches, as far as I was concerned. I stuck one of the peaches with the small blade and shoved it in my mouth. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten.

"Uh muh grd," I managed to mumble through my mouthful of heaven.

Glenn laughed. "Good, right?"

"Mhm," I nodded. I had to turn away from Glenn and Daryl as peach juice started dribbling down my chin. I wiped it off with my sleeve and swallowed the fruit.

"Sorry," I said when I turned back. "I'm used to more bland food in questionable condition. Where did you find all this stuff?" I picked at another slice of peach, this time cutting a bite size piece so as not to embarrass myself further.

"House on the other side of town," Daryl said.

"They had this stuff stockpiled," Glenn added.

"So...they gave it to you?" I asked.

"Not exactly," Glenn replied.

"Found 'em dead in their living room," Daryl clarified. "Didn't want it to go to waste."

"Oh." Dead in their own home. I suddenly felt a lot less safe inside this house.

A knock at the door made me jump and almost drop my can of deliciousness.

"I'll get it." Glenn went to get the door.

"Is that the others?" I asked Daryl.

"Yup." He was digging into his own can of something. I couldn't quite tell what it was but it didn't look too appetizing.

"Where were they?"

"Lookin' for more food," he replied. "This ain't exactly enough." He held up his can.

"What are you gonna do once it's gone?"

"Move, probably," he said.

"You say that like it's no big deal," I observed.

"Haven't you been movin' from place to place?"

"Well, yeah, but I was alone," I answered. "It was easier."

"Ain't nothin' easy about livin' anymore," he said.

"Daryl!" Glenn came running back into the kitchen. "Come outside!"

Daryl dropped the can on the counter and ran out after him.

"The hell is this?" I heard Daryl say. I couldn't resist. I had to see.

I set down my peaches and went to the front door. There, in the middle of the driveway, was the carcass of a massive buck, and standing over it were two women, one with a lethal looking samurai sword strapped to her back, and a kid who couldn't be older than thirteen. I stepped down from the porch and approached the group, taking care to stay back a bit.

"How the hell did you get this over here?" Daryl asked, completely at a loss.

"It wasn't that far," the kid replied. "We dragged it on the tarp."

I noticed there was a large blue tarp underneath their kill. Smart.

"Who's that?" the samurai asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"She's okay," Glenn answered. "We found her in the woods."

"What's going on out here?" I turned back to see Rick coming out of the house. A girl stood in the doorway holding a sleeping baby.

"We got more food," the kid said.

"I can see that," Rick replied. He was clearly baffled at the sheer size of the thing.

"We figured Daryl and Michonne could gut it and prepare it for us," the other woman said.

As they discussed what to do with the animal, the girl with the baby came and stood next to me.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Maggie."

"Liza," I smiled.

"This is Judith." She looked down at the baby. "Don't worry, she's usually pretty quiet."

"That's good," I said. I already liked Maggie. She was the only one who didn't seem immediately suspicious of my being here. "I kinda feel like I'm intruding, to be honest."

"Oh, you're not," she assured me. "Some people just don't trust strangers that easily. I can't really blame 'em."

"The one with the sword keeps looking at me like I'm the devil."

"That's Michonne. She's just really protective of us. She'll like you once she gets to know you."

"Is the kid Rick's, too?" I asked when I noticed Rick's hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Yeah, that's Carl. Judith's big brother. And that's Carol. Not as scary as Michonne."

"Are they really expecting to eat that whole thing?" I asked as they started dragging it away behind the house. "It looks like it weighs a ton."

"You'd be surprised," Maggie laughed.

With that pile of meat, I expected we wouldn't be moving as soon as they'd thought. At least it would give me a chance to settle down and enjoy a roof for once. And if this group really was as great as Maggie was making them sound, things might not be so bad anymore. Glenn and Maggie were really nice. Rick seemed like a fearless leader. And it didn't seem like I'd learn that much about Daryl. He was somewhat of a quiet type. But there was something about him that was intriguing. I felt like I wanted to talk to him more, even though doing so might prove to be a tedious task with his mumbling and one word answers. Regardless, I felt like I'd feel calm—safe, even—for the first time in forever, as long as I was with these people.


	3. Determination

Dinner couldn't have been better. The buck did indeed yield a huge amount of food. We'd sat around the coffee table in the living room chowing down on our feast. I clearly wasn't the only one who hadn't eaten in far too long. We'd talked about taking it slow, rationing it out so it didn't run out too quickly, but we were all so hungry and we figured since we'd have to move anyway what was the point in dragging it out?

Needless to say, everyone slipped into food comas. Glenn and Maggie were knocked out on the sofa. Carol had gone to claim a semi-comfortable bed with Carl and Judith. Rick was cleaning up in the kitchen. I didn't know where Michonne was, but she'd stopped giving me the evil eye halfway through dinner. I guess I was making progress.

I sat in front of the freshly lit fire, digging sticky clumps of peach out of the little nooks and crannies in my pocketknife with a damp cloth. I might as well have dropped the whole thing into the can considering how much of a mess I'd made. The bowl of hot water beside me was beginning to get cloudy as I dipped the cloth back into it.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the blade of my machete. Daryl was holding it out for me.

"Thanks," I said quietly as I took it. It was good to know I was someone who could be trusted again. He sat down beside me and started sharpening a dagger with a smooth stone.

I examined my machete. It was covered in a thick crust of dried blood and guts. It needed some good cleaning, and probably some sharpening, too. I dunked the cloth into the bowl and wrung it out. The water was starting to cool down, but it was warm enough. I started scrubbing the grime off the blade. Some soap and a brush would have come in handy right about now.

"Saw what you did out there. With that pack of walkers." Daryl's quiet voice took me by surprise.

"It was stupid," I replied. "I could have gotten myself killed."

"But you didn't," he stated.

"I was mad," I said. "And really lucky."

"You think people still get lucky?" he asked.

"I did."

"That wasn't luck, that was you swingin' a blade."

"So why didn't you help me?" I asked. "If you saw me against seven of them."

"I was too far away."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't need help, then," I quipped.

"Until you passed out."

"Until I passed out. Yeah," I nodded slowly. What would have become of me if he hadn't found me? If a growler had come my way and I didn't wake up? If that wasn't luck it was something very close. "Thank you, by the way," I added. "I don't know if I ever thanked you."

"Don't mention it," he replied.

"Do you usually take in wounded strangers?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Just figured we could use a good fighter."

"You don't have enough of those?"

"Not as long as there's a baby to take care of."

I watched him. He wasn't paying much attention to the dagger in his hand, but rather staring at some spot on the floor just beyond it. He was thinking about other things, probably other people. Ones he'd lost. Ones he couldn't protect. His face was hard to read. He always wore the same frown. Even when he'd half-smiled at me earlier it hadn't reached his eyes. He looked worn down, but more so than the rest of them. The way he acted around the others, I figured he put on a strong face and fought for them without question. But now, when they weren't looking, he looked tired. Of course, I hardly knew him at all, but when someone stared at nothing like that, it was usually because of exhaustion.

He must have felt me staring at him because he turned to look back at me. I dropped my eyes to my work instantly, hoping the soft orange light from the fire hid my blush. I could have sworn I heard him laugh for a second.

After a moment I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Rick standing behind us, a hand also on Daryl's shoulder. He held up a finger for us to stay quiet and beckoned us to follow him. Daryl and I exchanged glances before getting up. He kept his blade with him, so I took mine. It was only half cleaned.

We followed Rick to the window by the front door. He held back the curtain for us to look. It was hard to see anything in the darkness, but I could somewhat make out a speck of light in the distance behind the house across the road.

"Is that fire?" Daryl whispered.

"It's been moving," Rick replied. "Slowly, but moving."

"There must be someone out there, then," I suggested.

"You wanna go find out?" Daryl asked Rick.

"It's too dangerous," he replied. "We could be outnumbered."

"Wouldn't it be better to know that before they reach us here?" I argued.

"Good point," Daryl added.

Rick thought for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. "But just to see. We don't approach them."

"I'll tell Glenn we're goin' out." Daryl went back to the living room.

"You're comin' with us, by the way," Rick said. It sent a shot of adrenaline through my system.

"Because you think I can handle a fight or because you don't trust me with your kids in the house?"

"Bit of both," he answered, not bothering to sugar coat it.

"Okay." If ever there was a time to prove myself, this was probably it. I was good at staying quiet and unseen, and if the situation called for it, my knife was probably bigger than anything they had.

Rick took his belt from the hook by the door and strapped it on. There was a gun in the holster. He pulled another gun from the back of his pants. Had he been wearing it all night?

"Here, put this on your belt." He held out a knife in a sheath. I did as he said as Daryl rejoined us.

"Good to go," he said. Rick nodded and opened the door.

The three of us walked silently down the steps of the porch. There was a short hiss behind us. We turned. Michonne was sitting on the roof, sword across her lap. She'd been watching the light, too.

"I'm going with you," she whispered. She strapped the sword to her back, crawled carefully to the edge of the roof, grabbed onto the frame of the eaves, and swung herself down, hardly making a sound.

The house across the street was empty and run down, broken windows and absent doors making it look like a face out of a horror movie. There were several acres of land behind it. The light was coming from the other side along the tree line. We ducked into the trees beside the house and made our way around, taking care to stay in the shadows.

As we got closer, I could make out several figures. Some were just milling around, others looked like they were limping.

"They look like walkers," Michonne whispered.

"They probably are," Rick said.

"Hang on." Daryl stopped and picked up a rock the size of his fist. He looked at Rick for approval. Rick nodded.

Daryl stepped to the edge of the trees and hurled the rock as hard as he could towards the strangers. It landed with a hard thump. There was a collective change of direction among the pack. They started shuffling towards where the rock fell. Their growling was audible now.

We all breathed a sigh of relief.

"We should put out that fire," Rick suggested. We made our way out of the trees and approached the small herd. One of the walkers was chained to a large piece of wood that looked like it had come from a fence. The fence must have burned down, judging by the size of the flames devouring this piece. The walker had been dragging it around behind it. I was surprised the whole forest hadn't burned down in the process.

There were about fifteen walkers. Daryl took out three with his crossbow. Michonne sliced a few heads in half as Rick stabbed a few more. They seemed to be doing just fine, but I didn't want to stand around and be useless.

I swung my machete, successfully decapitating one of them. Daryl had switched to his dagger and was stabbing the ones that came at him. Michonne took down a walker that nearly got its fingers around Rick's neck from behind.

I cut the head off a walker near Daryl. He ducked to avoid getting the projectile blood in his face. In that single moment of distraction, another one reached out and dug its boney fingers into his arm. He slammed the end of his crossbow into its head a few times, but it held on tight. In a panic, I kicked it hard in the gut. I didn't want to risk swinging at it and hitting Daryl instead in the commotion. It hit the ground with a squish. I stuck the end of my machete into its head. Another one fell down next to me. Rick had killed it before it could attack me from behind. The stupid things were coming out of nowhere.

Michonne took out the last one and dragged its body on top of the burning piece of wood. After a few moments, it was dark.

"Is everyone okay?" Rick asked, breathing hard.

"Yeah," Michonne and I replied at the same time.

"Daryl?" No answer. Rick went over to him. He was looking down at his arm.

"It's just a scratch, I didn't get bit," Daryl grunted. He was gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Are you sure?" Rick asked sternly.

"I'm fine," Daryl shot back and started heading back towards the house.

* * *

Daryl was already standing over the kitchen sink by the time we made it back to the house. Glenn was standing next to him with a canteen of water.

"See if he's okay," Rick said to Michonne. "I'm gonna go check on Judith."

Michonne joined Daryl and Glenn in the kitchen. "What happened?" she asked.

"One of 'em grabbed me, that's all," he grumbled.

"It looks pretty bad, Daryl," Glenn added. "You're gonna need stitches."

"So I'll sew it up, don't worry about it," Daryl retorted.

"I still have some bandages left," I offered as I entered the kitchen. "I can wrap it up for you."

Michonne looked back at me and nodded.

When I came back with my first aid kit, Daryl was sitting at the island on a stool, a dirty rag pressed over the wound and soaking up blood quickly.

"Good luck," Glenn said to me as he passed me on his way out of the kitchen. Michonne was right behind him, clearly amused by Daryl's stubbornness.

I took a seat at the island next to him. His hand was holding the rag down tightly.

"That's filthy," I observed. "Take it off, lemme see."

He removed the rag slowly and placed it underneath his arm to catch the blood that was still trickling out of it. There were three short but deep gashes from where the walker's fingers had dug in.

I removed one of the disinfecting wipes from its wrapper and wrung it out over the scratches. Some of the chemical dripped down. Daryl flinched and hissed against the pain.

"You okay?" I asked as I dabbed the scratches with the wipe.

"Fine," he grunted.

I wiped away most of the blood, but the wound was still fresh. I didn't have a way to make stitches, but the tape was still in the kit. I tore off a short piece and pinched the skin on either side of the first scratch together to make it narrower.

"Jesus Christ," Daryl groaned. "You're gonna make it worse."

Ignoring him, I pressed the tape down over the scratch. It held nicely. The bleeding slowed almost instantly. I tore off another piece of tape. I wiped away some of the blood that dripped out of the second one.

"I don't think this is gonna work," he said.

"You wanna know what I was doing before the world went to shit?" I asked as I pinched the second scratch closed. I took his silence and clenched jaw as a yes. "I was a student. Pre-law. Thought I'd make six figures for arguing with people. Then I got bored and switched to engineering. That was fun for a semester, but the math was too much. Then I met this guy who was going through EMT training. It sounded interesting, so I switched my major again. I lasted longer in that one than the first two. Discovered I liked fixing people up. Got certified as a paramedic and started working right outta school. So, Daryl dearest, the point I'm trying to make here is, stop crying, I know how to treat a scratch." I wrapped what was left of the bandage tightly around the three sealed gashes and secured it with a final piece of tape. "Let me know if your fingers go numb."

I started packing what was left of my kit back up.

"Thanks," Daryl mumbled.

"You're welcome," I replied. I hadn't realized it, but we had ended up sitting closer to each other than I'd intended. His leg was touching mine and his bandaged arm was directly in front of me on the counter. The room suddenly felt warmer as the blood rushed to my face. I'd refused to admit it to myself before, but Daryl was stupidly attractive, despite the thick layer of dirt on his face. I'd caught myself staring at his arms during dinner earlier that night. He didn't take care of himself very well, but he cared enough about the people he was with for it not to matter.

"You should get some sleep," he said finally, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between us.

"Yeah," I stammered, mentally snapping myself out of it. "You too. Try not to roll on top of that in your sleep," I added, indicating his arm.

"I can't make any promises," he replied.

"Well, good night," I said as I slid down from the stool.

"Night."

The bed was cold. They'd let me take the room where I'd left my bag beneath the open window. Thankfully one of them had closed it before anything could come in. I'd forgotten all about it in the excitement. I wrapped the tattered blanket around myself tighter, trying to clear my head. All I could think about was what had just happened, how close we'd been sitting. I could still feel the warmth of his skin below my fingers. I knew I was being stupid. I was embarrassed of my own thoughts, but I thought them anyway. His dirt-covered face was the last thing on my mind as I drifted off to sleep.


	4. Inferiority

The town square wasn't just empty, it was desolate. There was a certain stillness to it that disproved the existence of life, even though I was standing there, breathing, looking right at it. A soft breeze swept the dead leaves across the prickly grass. The rustling of the trees that had always meant nature and serenity now reminded me of the cold and the fact that I was outside. Outside meant danger, no matter how walker-free the area seemed. Unless I had my back against something solid like a wall or a tree, there was always that vulnerable spot that my eyes unfortunately couldn't see through the back of my head. The town felt haunted. Still I stood there, drinking in the calm silence, letting the wind sway me from side to side. I was glad to be alone.

I'd gotten so lost in the eerie tranquility of the place that Daryl's voice startled me. "So?" He sounded impatient. "Which one?" Suddenly I wasn't alone anymore.

Daryl, Carol, and I had come to the town's center in search of a working vehicle. Sure, we had Daryl's bike, but that was _Daryl's_ bike. It didn't do much for transportation when it came to everyone else's lack of mobility, anyway. I noticed Carol standing by quietly. She had her eyes closed and face pointed toward the sun. She was enjoying the atmosphere as much as I was.

I looked around. The cars that were still in one piece were either too small, too rusted, or had too many broken windows. Even if we found one that looked right, the engine would most likely be shot. I didn't want to speak and break the silence again, but priorities rendered that pointless.

"There's a van over there," I said, pointing at the white, windowless van parked haphazardly with its back wheels up on the sidewalk.

"That might work," Carol agreed.

We made our way down the block to the van, keeping our eyes focused on our surroundings. There could be walkers nearby, or even a trap set by the fully alive. The back of the van was open. There were a couple bodies inside. They didn't look rotted so I figured they'd been bitten and taken care of before they could turn. Shame. It looked like they had been packing the van with supplies and were on their way to some place safe. A sickening wave of realization came over me. The van was empty. What if they'd been killed and robbed of their supplies? Could we not coexist peacefully anymore, even with this common enemy? No, that question had been answered for me not too long ago. I could only hope that whoever was responsible here was long gone by now. And that meant there wasn't anything salvageable left for us to use.

"I'll see if it runs," Daryl said as he went around to the driver's seat. _If it works, why would it still be here? _The key was still in the ignition. He turned it, but the engine didn't even sputter. He smacked the steering wheel and stepped out to look under the hood.

"We should probably move them in case he gets it working," Carol suggested, looking down at the bodies. I nodded in agreement and we started dragging them out of the van. The first one was easy enough. There was a stab wound to the back of his head and his skin was pale but not rotten. We pulled him aside on the sidewalk. There was no use in creating a proper burial at this point as they were long forgotten. But still we set him down right next to the wall of the thrift shop behind us, out of the way of possible traffic blazing through, and folded his hands over his stomach.

Once the first one looked comfortable enough, we went back for the second one. He was laying face down, one arm dangling out the back of the van. Carol and I each grabbed a shoulder and had barely begun to pull when the dead hand grabbed my thigh. I jumped back, but its fingers were wrapped tightly in the fabric of my jeans. They'd become looser with wear, so they were no longer skin tight as they used to be. I must have screamed or made some startled noise because Daryl came running to the back of the van. With his heavy boot, he stomped the thing's arm off my leg just as Carol's dagger sliced into its skull.

"Are you alright?" Carol asked me as I regained my footing.

"Yeah," I said. "It just surprised me." I would probably have been able free myself, but Carol and Daryl were so quick I barely had a moment to reach for Rick's knife, which I now kept attached to my belt.

Daryl grabbed the walker by the hair and lifted its head up to reveal a deep slash across its throat. "They did a shit job of killin' this one," he remarked, and dropped the head back down. "Almost did a job on you," he added, turning to me. "Better watch your back."

I scowled at him. Obviously I was alert at all times. He went back to the front of the van. Carol and I exchanged exasperated glances and pulled the body all the way out, dropping it there on the ground.

"He likes you," Carol commented. I almost laughed out loud.

"Yeah, right," I replied.

"'Ey, get up here!" Daryl called from under the hood. "Get in the front and turn it on when I tell you."

"Did you fix the problem?" Carol asked him as I climbed into the front seat.

"Guess we'll find out," he replied. He fiddled with something I couldn't see, then yelled, "Okay, go!"

I turned the key. It sputtered and whined for a moment, but wouldn't turn over. Daryl messed with something else, then, "Try it again!" I turned the key, this time pumping the gas pedal at the same time. After a few moments, the engine roared to life. "Yeah!" I heard Daryl yell. He dropped the hood back down and hopped into the passenger seat beside me.

"Let's see what we got in here," he said as he opened the glove box. It was empty, save for a few registration and insurance papers. He bent over and reached under the seat. "Nothin'," he said.

I looked at the gas meter. It only had a quarter tank. "We need gas," I said, wondering how the hell that was gonna happen.

"Leave it runnin'. We gotta check out the store real quick." He climbed back out of the van and joined Carol at the shop front.

I shut the driver's side door, rolled the window down, and pulled myself up so I was sitting on the ledge, my feet resting on the seat. I watched as they entered through the shattered front window of the shop. Hopefully something—_anything—_useful was left. I turned the other way, looking around at the other shop fronts and businesses. The town was small enough to not have some chain or another on every street corner. These were mostly family owned, mom-and-pop shops and cafes. It was quiet again, except for Daryl and Carol's footsteps cracking the broken glass inside as they rummaged around. There was a fountain in the middle of the grassy area that made up the center of the town square. It was dry and cracked now, but I could tell it used to be beautiful, glistening in the sun on a hot summer day. The wooden benches lining the edge of the dead grass were broken, overturned, or rotting. Someone once took great pride in keeping this place clean, watered, and trimmed, but all that was left now was grey and brown remains of flowers and grass.

The fountain had been blocking my view of the street that led away on the opposite side of the square, so I didn't see the lone walker until it was passing the crumbling stone structure. I didn't panic. I barely even blinked. It was one walker. I could probably stay right where I was and let it come to me so I could kill it without wasting any energy. I let it step into the street on my side of the square. The sound of the engine must have caught its attention. I wondered what they'd found in the store—_if _they'd found anything.

The walker was just a few feet from the van now. I pulled my knife from its holster and held it up at the height of the walker's head. I was curious to see if it would walk into it. It reached out for my arm before it was close enough. I pulled my hand away, then plunged the knife into its forehead after it came a few steps closer. The all too familiar stench of rotten brains snaked into the air as it fell to the ground. When I looked back up, the sight before me made my heart stop.

The square was littered with dozens of walkers limping around aimlessly. A good portion of them were headed my way. _SHIT!_ I looked back to the store. They were still inside somewhere. I had to lock myself in the van and trust that they could defend themselves, or run out quietly to warn them. If I'd been alone, the van option would have sufficed. But I wasn't about to let them be ambushed by a horde of walkers that I knew was coming for them.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled my legs out of the window and lowered myself to the ground. Only a handful of walkers saw me but they were still far enough away to for me not to have to hurry. Most of them were still milling around the grassy area and the street beyond it. I pulled my machete from its sheath and stepped lightly to the window.

Broken glass was everywhere. I didn't know how I'd make it through here without attracting the walkers. I took a few very slow steps in spots that were mostly clear of glass and peered inside the store. From what I could see, several looters had already ransacked the place. The only things left were empty clothing racks, shelves removed from the walls, and torn clothing on the floor. I could hear Daryl and Carol moving around behind one of the shelves that was still standing. I needed to get their attention, but I couldn't go any further or the glass would break beneath my boots and make too much noise. I couldn't call out to them for the same reason. I looked over my shoulder. The walkers were coming closer, but I still had time. I looked down. Shards of glass and torn rags lay everywhere. Just inside the window was a mannequin that somehow ended up in pieces. The hand was close enough for me to reach. It took some impressive stretching, but I managed to grasp it. I tossed it in the direction of the shuffling noises. Luckily I was right. Daryl darted out from behind the shelf, crossbow aimed and ready right between my eyes.

There was a sudden _whoosh _and then a splatter and a thud just behind me. I turned to see a walker on the ground right at my heels, an arrow in its head. I turned back to see Daryl running my way.

"Oh, fuck!" he whispered when he stopped short at the sight outside. Carol came out from behind the shelf carrying a cardboard box that looked somewhat heavy. They'd found something! But now we had to worry about getting back in one piece.

Daryl stepped out of the window, new arrow loaded on his crossbow, as Carol followed him out. The walkers had reached the van. I couldn't get to the front without having to cut through at least ten of them. The back was still clear, but we had just seconds left. Carol shot forward and threw the box into the van right before drawing her dagger and taking out the two walkers that had made their way around the back of the van. Daryl was already shooting and stabbing. I sliced my own blade through the air, taking out another handful of walkers. Machete in my right hand, knife in my left, I cut and stabbed my way through the dead crowd toward the driver's side door. I would be damned if I was gonna leave a perfectly good vehicle behind because of a few rotters. I managed to get halfway there, but there were so many I wasn't gonna make it. I stepped backwards until I was at the back doors again.

"Come on!" Daryl yelled to me as he jumped into the van after Carol. One more slice, one more walker down, and I hurled my body through the back. Daryl grabbed the doors and had to kick a couple walkers away before he could slam them shut. There was a single moment of relief before I remembered the front window I'd rolled down. I scrambled to the front and climbed over the center console just in time to cut off a few arms and kick the walkers away as I fumbled for the window button. All of my weight was on my shoulder pressing down on the gear shift between the seats. My legs were busy kicking walkers' heads. I was having a hard time reaching the button on the door. Daryl reached over me and went to stabbing the invaders so I could get the window up. Somehow I found the right button and pressed down hard. The glass started rolling up at what felt like a glacial pace, but finally it was sealed and we were safe.

I was breathing hard, having just performed some practically acrobatic moves to get to the front seat. I leaned against the steering wheel, taking care not to honk the horn. Daryl was still halfway over the seat, his right hand gripping the center console to steady himself.

"You alright?" he asked me between breaths. He was as winded as I was. I nodded. We'd made it this far. Driving back was the easy part. I wanted to lean forward so I could twist around and sit in the seat properly, but Daryl was still so close. I didn't know if it was just my nerves making me feel awkwardly unable to move, but he saved me the trouble and crawled over to the passenger seat. I looked back at Carol. She was repacking the spilled contents of the box.

"What did you find?" I asked, forgetting my previous will to sit properly.

"Just some old blankets and rope," she replied. "At least it's something."

"We should probably get outta here," Daryl suggested as the walkers continued grabbing at the windows. I finally maneuvered my legs back around to the front of the seat and shifted the van into drive. "Easy," he coached me as I lifted my foot from the brake. The mob would be tough to drive through. They were solid bodies, after all. I pressed down on the gas little by little, plowing through the walkers like a spoon through peanut butter. Several of them fell, causing it to be a bit of a bumpy ride as I ran over them. I steadily picked up speed as the crowd started to thin, and finally we were free.

We drove back to the house in silence. There had been too many close calls and I felt like they were mostly—entirely—my fault. I wanted to kick myself for leaving the window open, for not paying attention to the walkers behind me, for making a complete fool of myself in front of Daryl. I knew it should have been the last thing on my mind when it was a life or death situation, but now that I had time to think back on what had happened, I was suddenly embarrassed. I wasn't as good at fighting as I'd thought. Or maybe I just wasn't good at fighting for other people. I'd made it on my own for this long. I wasn't used to company, to the responsibility that came with group living. Maybe I wasn't cut out for it.

"I'm sorry," I broke the silence as we pulled up to the house.

"For what?" Carol asked. Her voice was soft. I knew she was good with sympathy, but I wanted none of it.

"I almost got us killed," I said.

"What are you talkin' about?" Daryl replied. He sounded genuine.

"I wasn't careful enough."

"You were fine, Liza," Carol assured me.

"I was scared," I said.

"We were all scared," she replied. "Even him." She nodded her head at Daryl.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "She's right."

"I don't think we would have gotten out alive _without _you," Carol went on. "We wouldn't have seen the mob outside. The store would have been overrun before we could get out."

I considered her words. She had a point, but I still felt responsible for…_something. _I always felt this way around other people. I was so afraid of losing anyone I became close to that I always blamed myself if something went wrong. We were all alive, and that should have been enough. It _was _enough. My mind just refused to let me think so.

"Hey," Daryl said quietly. I looked at him. "You did good." That was enough to shatter my composed exterior, but I was already so disheveled that it didn't show. The corner of his mouth twitched in what I assumed was a very weak smile. His eyes bore into mine almost as if they could see right through that outer shell. I had to remind myself to blink, and that we were still sitting in the van.

I straightened up and shook the thoughts in my head away. As Daryl and I got out of the front to help get the box inside, I could have sworn I saw an amused smirk on Carol's face.


	5. Panic

Agh! This chapter was so stubborn so it took me a while x( Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

The sound of glass breaking ripped me from my dreams. I instantly forgot what had been happening, but the residual feeling of happiness and excitement stayed with me for a few moments before I heard the yelling and shouting from the living room. I yanked the blanket off of me and ran out into the hallway. The air was warm and I could hear something crackling. Glenn came running from the living room.

"What's going on?" I asked frantically, but he ran past me and into one of the other bedrooms. I followed him in. He woke up Rick and Carl with violent shakes of their shoulders and said something that sounded like, "The house is on fire." Judging by the speed with which Rick jumped out of bed, I'd heard right.

"Take Judith and go out the window," Rick ordered Carl. He did as he was told. Rick and Glenn ran past me and back out to the living room. There was no use in standing around waiting for an explanation, so I hurried back to my room, shoved my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them up, grabbed my bag and my blades, and went back to the hallway. The temperature had tripled in those few seconds and as I turned the corner, I saw that the furniture was alight with flames that licked the ceiling. I'd only been on a few calls that involved fire, and it was usually the firefighters that went into the burning buildings, but I knew enough to escape with my life. I pulled the collar of my shirt over my nose and mouth and scanned every corner of the room. There didn't seem to be anyone there.

"Is anyone in here?" I yelled as loudly as I could over the roaring of the fire. No answer. "Anyone in here?" I repeated, just to be sure. A rafter fell through the ceiling. The frame of the house was weakening and I was still standing inside it. If anyone was stuck, they weren't getting unstuck. I turned on my heel and hurried back to my room to climb out the window.

What met me outside was the opposite of what I'd been expecting. Instead of the rest of the group waiting outside watching the house burn down, there was a badly dented and blood-covered paddy wagon. The back was open and inside it was everyone except Rick and Daryl. They looked alarmed, like they'd been forced inside instead of offered a ride to safety. I barely had enough time to register what I was seeing before a strong hand grasped the back of my shirt and I felt a sharp blade to my throat.

"Get in," a deep voice growled in my ear. The man started pushing me towards the others. I noticed two more men walk around from the front of the truck, both armed with several guns. I didn't say anything, just let him push me towards the truck as my left hand carefully undid the button on my knife's holster. Gently I slid the blade from its sheath and gripped the handle tight. I waited for the right moment. The other two men were standing by the back doors, fussing with their guns and a box of ammo.

We reached the back of the paddy wagon and I lifted a foot to step up into it, but instead pushed back hard into the man behind me, causing him to lose his balance. In that single second, I was able to twist free and stick my knife into the side of his neck. The men with the guns heard the commotion and ran around to the back. One of them aimed his weapon at the group in the truck to keep them seated while the other came at me, pistol raised. He pulled the trigger but missed. He was close enough that the earsplitting blast of gunpowder left a ringing in my ears. I managed to duck out of the way as he fired another shot and ran at him, hoping to knock him down. Before I could reach him, there was another blast and blood spattered from his forehead into the air. He'd been shot by someone else, but I couldn't see the shooter. The last man standing slammed the doors of the truck shut and ran around to the driver's seat, the whole while dodging several bullets that hit the truck's side instead of their intended target.

I looked to my left and saw Rick running at the truck as it sped away. I ran after him.

"NO!" he screamed as he ran after it faster than I'd ever seen a human being run. "CARL!" He kept running even after the truck had disappeared around the bend. When I finally reached the same turn, both truck and Rick were nowhere to be seen. The road forked off into three more roads, all of which disappeared into thick woods.

"Shit!" I didn't bother trying to stay quiet. "Shit shit shit!" I ran a few feet down the middle road, but the silence that met me told me there were no loud vehicles or hysterical fathers nearby. I ran back to the fork and couldn't decide which of the other two to choose. I was completely frantic. My mind wouldn't calm its panicked thoughts enough for me to make a decision and I stopped, letting my eyes flit back and forth between the three roads. A sob escaped my dry throat. I'd been left behind. I was alone again and the people that had taken me in had been abducted by crazy men. In that moment, the feeling of helplessness that came over me weakened my legs and I sunk to my knees. I didn't care that the rough dirt and stones were cutting into my skin through my jeans. I tried and tried but could think of nothing to do. What _could _I do? They had a truck and I had slow, weak legs.

_And a van. _I suddenly remembered the van I had commandeered with Daryl and Carol. It would still be parked behind the house where the kidnappers couldn't possibly have seen it. It hardly had any gas left, but it was better than nothing.

I forced myself to my feet and was about to turn around when I felt a hand on my shoulder. _They're not fucking taking me, _I thought, and whipped around, fist in the air. Knuckle met cheekbone and I couldn't tell which one the loud crack had come from. I still had my knife in my left hand and was about to swing when I realized that the man gripping his freshly bruised face was Daryl.

"Daryl!" I yelled.

"Who else would I be?" he grunted through gritted teeth.

"I'm so sorry, I thought you were one of them!" I shrieked, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him to face me so I could look at his cheek.

"Christ, you could kill someone with that swing," he quipped, letting me pull his hand away from his face. The skin was red and swollen. No doubt he'd have a black eye in no time.

"I'm sorry," I said again, not quite feeling like I was getting across just how sorry I was. "Just leave it alone. Don't touch it," I added.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, changing the subject back to the matter at hand.

"I don't know!" I was beginning to get hysterical again. "I woke up and the house was on fire and these guys had everyone in the back of their truck and they tried to take me but I got away and Rick tried to chase it but I lost them they're all gone!" I rambled.

"Even Rick?" Daryl asked.

"He ran after the truck and they went down one of these stupid fucking roads and I don't know which one."

Daryl looked at the three branches of dirt and trees. He couldn't come to a valid conclusion either. All three paths were almost identical in size and tree coverage.

"I was gonna get the van and figure it out from there," I went on. "I figured I could at least find Rick."

Daryl said nothing, but nodded and turned to go back to the house. I had to jog every few steps to keep up with his wide strides. He was thinking, I could tell. He was coming up with a plan, which was more than I could say for myself.

The interior of the van still smelled like old chemicals and rotted flesh. One of the arms I'd cut off from the window was still on the floor in front of the driver's seat, but Daryl had hardly noticed it when he'd climbed in. I sat in the passenger seat, not even bothering to buckle in, as he sped back to the fork. It was rapidly approaching and he wasn't slowing down. He must have already decided on a path.

"Which one?" he asked.

"What?"

"Which one!" he repeated as we approached at a quickening speed.

"Right!" I shouted, and he swerved the van down the road on the right, nearly tipping us over in the process.

"What the hell, Daryl!" I scolded once we'd reached a steady cruising speed. The road was paved about a quarter mile into the woods and straightened out as the trees started thinning. It seemed like we were headed back to the main highway, but the foliage was still thick enough that I couldn't really tell.

"It was the fastest way to make the decision," he said. He had a point and I wasn't about to argue. We were either on the right road or the wrong one, but that's how it would have been on the others as well. We could only wait to find out.

"Shouldn't we have passed Rick by now?" I asked, positive that no human being could possibly have run this far in that amount of time. Daryl was driving almost sixty miles an hour and we'd barely been on the road for five minutes.

"He coulda found a car," Daryl replied. "Or took another way."

"So we're just gonna keep going this way till we find something?" I asked.

"Unless you can think of something better," he countered.

"God, they have the baby," I thought out loud. "What if they hurt her?"

"Then we better find 'em fast." He obviously wasn't much for comforting thoughts.

We drove in silence for a while, never quite clearing the trees. The whole street seemed like it was leading to a main road, but couldn't actually find it. A few walkers lined the sides, but they weren't much of an obstacle. The few that were in the street were easy enough to swerve around.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" I asked a few minutes later.

"Georgia," he replied. "That's all I know."

"Great," I said.

"Thought you were from around here," he said.

"No," I replied. "I walked here."

"From where?"

"I was moving around the states. It wasn't really a straight line."

"You were just walkin' around the country?"

"Basically."

"How long?"

"Eight months, I think."

Daryl laughed. "That must be some kinda record."

"It wouldn't matter anymore, would it?" I said as more of a statement. Even if I had walked more miles than anyone ever, it wouldn't make the tiniest difference. I had left California a few weeks after losing my entire family and just started walking east. I figured a constant change of scenery would keep me from getting comfortable and losing my mind. The more I had to focus on externally, the less I'd focus on the internal.

"Didn't really matter before, either," he said. I laughed a little at that. I wondered how much or little he'd cared about anything before. I couldn't get a read on him. He was simultaneously incredibly caring and incredibly apathetic. It made my head spin.

"Whoahh," he said slowly, pressing down steadily on the brakes. I looked at the road ahead of us. There was another mob of walkers wandering around. They hadn't seemed to notice us just yet, except for a few stragglers. Daryl brought the van to a full stop and turned off the engine.

"Get down," he said quietly, and slouched down in his seat so far that his head was below the window. I did the same.

"Why don't we get in the back?" I asked, wondering why we weren't making use of our roomy hiding spot behind the front seats.

"We gotta drive outta here fast, I rather be sittin' in the cockpit already," he replied.

I had to bend awkwardly to stay out of view of the walkers. I decided it would be better to just sink all the way to the floor and rest my arms on the seat. As it turned out, there was only enough room for me to slide halfway down. The rest of me had to use the seat and center console as support. It wasn't what I had intended, but at least it was more comfortable this way. Daryl, on the other hand, had used his brain and had reclined the back of his seat all the way down. He was still mostly underneath the steering wheel, but he wasn't bent in any odd ways. I could have done the same, but I was committed to my current position, as getting out of it would prove to be too difficult.

"Shh," Daryl hushed as the first of the walkers approached the van. It didn't see us, just kept dragging its feet past us. Then a few more arrived. With that, the knocking started. It wasn't enough that we were completely still and silent. They could smell us, even through the locked car doors. More and more of them piled on. I was afraid they'd break through the glass.

"How long before they give up?" I whispered.

"Depends who else is walkin' by," Daryl replied.

"We can't drive through them?"

"Too many of 'em."

"We can't even try?" I argued. "We need to find Rick!"

"We'll find him!" he snapped to shut me up. "We just gotta wait."

There was the hatred again. The disdain I felt towards the walkers. It seemed the world had a never ending supply and they were all aimed in our direction. Mindless eating machines that had wasted away to nothing. I glared out the window at them. I could still see the colors in some of their clothes. A lady in pink, a man in green. It was all matted with dirt and blood now, but those were once people in a store trying on those clothes. I was like them. And I hated them more than anything.

A distant thought, one that I'd kept pushed to the back of my mind, flitted out into focus. It made me smile and roll my eyes. Daryl noticed.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"It's my birthday," I replied. "If I've been counting the days right." I was met with silence. Birthdays weren't really a thing of concern anymore. "You wanna know what my biggest fear used to be?"

"A broken nail?" Daryl mumbled.

"Actually, yes. Something like that," I replied, ignoring his subdued sass. "I was a very self-conscious teenager. I thought I'd end up with no friends if I didn't dress right or talk to the right people. If I had any idea what was coming, I would have dropped the nail polish and stocked up on toilet paper and water bottles when I had the chance."

"You sound like the kinda girls that made me hate school," he said. "Musta been a good wake up call for you."

"Knowing what I know now, I hate those girls, too," I replied.

"There's a difference between you and them, though," Daryl said.

"Is there?" I asked.

"You're in here, and they're probably out there chewin' on a scrap of metal. You don't come this far bein' one of them. I probably coulda tolerated you more than them."

"Wow, thanks," I said sarcastically. "What about you?"

"What _about _me?" he said.

"What were you doing before?" I asked.

"Don't matter anymore," he answered. "Just matters what I do now."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So you were either CIA or in jail, am I right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, we'll go with that," he said. "CIA."

Daryl cracked a slightly amused smile as the walkers rocked the van back and forth.

"What?" I asked.

"You ever been that hungry before?" he said, pointing at a walker that had crawled onto the hood of the van and started clawing at the windshield.

"They can't break the glass, can they?" I asked, really starting to get worried now.

"Probably," he said. "I seen 'em do it before."

"So what the hell are we doing just sitting here?" I almost shouted. "If they break through we might not be able to fight them off!"

"You wanna crack a window and start stabbin', be my guest," he said.

"Did you lose your mind or are you just that confident that, like, a deer or something is gonna come running by and lure them away?"

"Bit of both, I think," he replied.

"Where were you, anyway?" I asked. "When the house was burning and everyone else was in the back of that truck. Where were _you_?"

Daryl didn't say anything, just leaned forward and turned the ignition, bringing the engine back to life.

"Daryl," I said. "Where the hell were you when they were being taken?"

"I thought you were still inside," he answered, keeping his eyes on the walkers in front of the van. "I went back in for you."

"Oh," I said. I didn't know what to say. He could have burned to death in that inferno. He must have been on the other side of the house or I would have seen him when I went to check the living room. "I got out okay."

"I know," he mumbled.

"Thanks," I added.

Daryl didn't answer. He pulled his seat back upright and shifted the van into drive as I pulled myself back up onto my own seat. He floored the gas pedal and the van plowed through the rotting corpses with a bit of slow effort.

"Told you we'd make it out," I said when we'd run over the last walker.

"My way woulda worked, too," he said, pointing at a deer that ran past us through the trees. "You're just stubborn."

We drove a few more miles before the van puttered to a halt. Daryl tried to restart the engine, but to no avail.

"Shit," he said. "Out of gas."

"Now what?" I asked.

"We can walk or we can find more gas," he answered. "There should be a town a couple miles down the road from here."

I was hesitant to go back outside, but I knew we didn't have a choice. If we stayed rooted to this spot, we'd be no help to the rest of the group, wherever they were.

"Okay," I finally said. "Let's find more gas."

As we stepped out of the van and started our trek down the highway, I couldn't help but notice how close he walked to me, but always a couple steps ahead. It was almost protective, if I wasn't imagining it. I couldn't think of a better person to be stuck out here with. After all, I was alive because of him.


	6. Comfort

It was dark by the time we made it to the edge of town. This one was quite a bit bigger than the one where we'd found the van. This town had traffic lights and yellow lines painted down the middle of the streets. Buildings went as high as five or six floors, but most stayed at three. We'd been out in the open for so long I felt like I was walking down a hallway instead of a street lined with structures. It made me uncomfortable. Only two ways to run, onward or back, but it was quiet enough that I felt confident we wouldn't have to do much running. Still, we kept our steps light and our voices silent.

We were still only a few blocks into town when Daryl tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the front door of one of the buildings. The decrepit sign hanging above it was barely legible but I could make out the word _sporting. _A sporting goods store. This would have been one of the first places to be ransacked. I doubted there would be much left, but Daryl made his way to the entrance anyway. He wiped away some of the dust and peered through the glass door, then turned back to me and nodded for me to join him.

I was right. The inside of the store looked more like a dump than anything that resembled organization. Among the torn tents and shredded bags were bodies, some of them still growling. They started reaching for us the moment we walked in, but didn't get very far without the essential limbs. A swift kick to the head took them out.

"Daryl, there's nothing in here," I said into the darkness. My flashlight only gave me so much visibility and I didn't want to be stuck in a place I couldn't see if we had to get out. Daryl's light was pointed away from me and I couldn't see him clearly, but it was enough to tell me where he was.

"This way," he said. I followed him to the back of the store and into a storage area. It must have been where they kept everything in stock before it went out on the floor. It was mostly untouched, surprisingly. A few boxes were strewn about, but everything else was still in its proper place. I assumed most people just didn't think to look back here when they were in a hurry to get what they needed and get back out.

The room was about half the size of the store, with rows upon rows of shelves with boxes stacked to the ceiling. Pieces of paper hung from the shelves with a label and a picture of the contents of the boxes above them.

"You gotta be kidding me," I said, shaking my head.

"What?"

"There's no way this was untouched for so long."

"It's gonna stay that way, for now," he said. "We can't carry it all on foot."

"At least we know it's here," I replied. "We should hurry and get the van back here before someone else finds it."

"Who else is gonna find it?"

"Could be anyone," I said. "We found it. Why couldn't someone else?"

Daryl kept walking down one of the rows, examining the labels with his flashlight. I went slowly to the end of another row, all the way to the back wall. There was a window with cheap white blinds that were barely cracked. All I could see were stripes of white and black. I clicked off my flashlight and approached the window. I stuck a finger between two of the slats and pulled one down, bringing my face close to the glass. The moon only gave enough light to wash everything in a dark grey hue. There were no colors anywhere, just shadows. We were at one end of an alley that led out onto a bigger street. A dumpster sat against one wall, filled to the brim with garbage. It was so peaceful outside, like it was midnight on any normal night before the sickness spread. I pictured a girl pulling up her coat around her neck as she hurried home from work. Maybe a stray cat ran by. A homeless man hunkered down in the alley for the night. Those things were all impossible now. Empty as it was, a place like this was not safe.

I stared out into the dim moonlight another moment before the darkness at the end of the alley was sliced by a stream of red and white lights. I blinked, thinking for a moment that it was just my imagination, but the lines left across my vision from the sudden brightness were very real. It was a car driving by, and that meant we weren't alone.

"Daryl!" I hissed. He rounded the end of the row he'd been searching, his flashlight still blaring. "Turn that off!"

"Why?" he whispered as he killed the light.

"There's someone out there," I said. "A car just drove by."

He went straight to the window and peeked out. "We'll be fine in here," he said. "If they come around we just lock ourselves in and get out this window."

"What if it's them?" I asked. "What if Rick is with them? Shouldn't we find out who they are?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But we should wait till morning. Ain't no use tryin' to follow if we can't see worth a damn."

I nodded my agreement and dropped my bag to the floor. I rolled my stiff shoulders, glad for a moment of relief without the weight pulling me down. Daryl went to the door and slid the lock into place.

I undid the holsters for my knife and machete from my belt and set them down beside my bag. If we were gonna camp out in a storage room for the night I might as well be comfortable. I sat down, using my bag as a pillow against the wall, and squirmed around to really settle in. I let my head fall back against the wall and took and deep breath. I'd been so wound up the whole day that my heart hadn't slowed down for a single beat until now.

Daryl dropped a small package in my lap and sat down beside me. I picked it up and shone my light on it.

"That shit don't expire," he said as he opened his own pack. It was something light and freeze dried, but I didn't really wanna know what it was supposed to be. I tore open the pack and pulled out the lump of what felt like coal. I sunk my teeth into it. I was far too hungry to be picky. It was dry and dusty and mostly tasteless, but it was better than nothing.

Daryl was busy munching on his own tasty meal. He looked down at the wrapper. "This says eggs and bacon, but as far as I'm concerned, it's a steak and mashed potatoes," he said. "Sure as hell don't taste like eggs and bacon."

"I think mine's supposed to be fried chicken," I said. "I would love some real, freshly fried chicken right about now."

"And some beer," he added.

"And a hot shower. God, I'd love a hot shower," I said.

We finished our makeshift dinners without worries of anything outside. There was no point. Whoever was in that car, we'd have a better chance of finding out in broad daylight and this was as good a place to get some sleep as any. After all, we weren't about to hike all the way back to the van.

Daryl took a swig from his canteen and handed it to me. The water was stale and warm, but it soothed my dry throat. I didn't realize how thirsty I'd been this whole time, but I only let myself take a few sips before handing it back to him.

"Thanks," I said.

"Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"When are you gonna sleep?" I asked as I settled further down against my bag, stretching my legs out below me.

"When I need to."

"Wake me up in two hours," I said. He nodded and I closed my eyes.

It was difficult to keep my eyelids shut. Every time I tried to fully relax, they wanted to jump back open. I wasn't tired. Not in the least bit. I slid all the way down so I was fully horizontal on the floor and rested my arm over my eyes to keep them shut. After a few minutes, my shoulder started going numb. This was impossible.

"I'm not tired," I said as I pushed myself back to a sitting position. "You sleep first."

"Not tired either," he replied. "Just rest, it's better than nothing."

I laid back down on my side and curled my knees up toward my chest. Daryl must have been getting uncomfortable on the hard floor, so he laid down, too, resting his head on his bag. He stared up at the ceiling. I tried not to look at him, sure he could feel me staring. Again. I looked instead at his arm. The bandage around it was dirty and starting to rip. He scratched at it absentmindedly.

"Stop that," I scolded and swatted his hand away. He obeyed, but didn't say anything. "How's it feeling?"

"It itches," he replied.

"That's good," I said. "Don't scratch it or you could open it up again."

"I've been scratchin' it and I haven't bled out yet," he said.

"Let me see." I grabbed his wrist and held my light over the bandage. There were small blood stains from where the wounds had bled through, but they weren't fresh. He was lucky he hadn't scratched hard enough. I let go of his wrist and clicked my light off. "No more scratching," I commanded.

"Yes, sir," he sassed.

I smiled. He didn't always let on, but somewhere in that shut in mind of his, Daryl was a completely different person than the one I knew. I didn't want to imagine who that person might be and risk being disappointed later on, but something told me we were a lot more alike than I'd thought.

"Can I ask you something and actually get an honest answer out of you?" I asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"Depends what the question is," he replied.

That didn't sound promising. "Do you get scared?" I inquired. "And I don't mean when you're trying to avoid walkers or other people. I mean…what do you think is gonna happen next? When this all ends?"

Daryl thought for a moment, probably considering whether or not to make a vague remark and be done with it. To my surprise, he turned on his side to face me. "Yes," he said. "But I don't let it control what I do. And to answer your other question, I don't think this is gonna end for a long time so it's not really something I bother about."

"Bother about it now," I pleaded. "I need to know what you think so I can stop playing my own scenario over and over in my head."

"What's your scenario?"

"I asked you first."

Daryl exhaled slowly. He had been telling the truth when he said he'd never thought about it. I could see him thinking now.

"Let's say all the walkers drop dead right now," he started. "We got nothin' to go back to. I don't think there's more than a thousand people alive in the country and there's no way the rest of the world isn't just as bad. I think we'll try to rebuild but it won't be the same. We'll be back in the stone age with what little people we got."

"Thank you," I said after another long silence. "That helped."

"What were you thinkin'?" he asked.

"That this would never end as long as there were children being born and people getting bit. Endless cycle, you know?"

"There's more walkers gettin' killed than children bein' born," he said. "Sooner or later someone'll kill the last damn rotter and it'll be over."

"You're more optimistic than I thought," I confessed. "To be honest, I thought you were gonna tell me exactly what I've been thinking."

"What's the point of tryin' to survive if that's what you're thinkin'?"

"I don't know," I said. "I just don't wanna die."

"That ain't gonna happen. I seen the way you fight," he said.

"Aren't you glad you almost ran me over?" I replied, holding back a smile.

"I still can't figure out how you didn't hear it comin'."

"I was running for my life. I wasn't hearing anything."

"You're just lucky I saw you."

We laid there in silence for another long moment. It was a cozy silence this time, not like the desolate ones that reminded me of death and stillness. A lock of hair from his bangs was hanging in his eyes and something possessed me to reach out and brush it out of the way with my fingertips. The touch of him made me dizzy, light as it was. I didn't remove my hand. Instead I let it touch the rest of his face, his cheek, his jaw, and he let me. His skin was rough, buried under a layer of dirt and sweat, but it was the softest thing my hands had touched in a long time. The skin around his left eye was darkening from where I'd hit him earlier that day. He was in rough shape, but he never let it show. I admired him for it.

I brought my hand back up to his cheek, this time resting my whole palm against it. He closed his eyes and turned his face slightly toward my hand. I was feeling warm and my heart was beating hard but slow. He looked so tired. He needed sleep more than I did.

"Go to sleep," I said quietly as I lightly pinched his chin and moved my hand away. "I'll stay up."

He opened his eyes for a moment to look at me. I could see the exhaustion more clearly than anything else. When he closed them again, he didn't move an inch to get more comfortable or rearrange his bag under his head. He must have knocked right out. If anyone deserved a few hours of undisturbed sleep, it was him. It took everything in my power not to reach out and touch him again, so I just lay there and rested, clearing my mind and trying not to over think the fact that he'd let me completely invade his personal space.


	7. Sickness

He was barely asleep for a couple hours before the brick flew through the window. The sound of glass shattering made my heart nearly jump right out of my chest as Daryl scrambled to his feet like he hadn't been sleeping at all. I pressed my back against the wall beside the window to keep out of sight. The brick lay at the end of one of the aisles. There was a red ribbon tied around it.

"They must know we're here," I whispered to Daryl, who was crouched below the window. He straightened slowly to peek out through the bottom where the glass remained intact. A sudden thud against the door on the other side of the room made me jump. Thank goodness we'd locked it.

"What do we do?" I stammered, trying desperately to keep the panic out of my voice.

Daryl picked up his crossbow and used the end of it to break the rest of the glass out of the window frame. "This way," he said. There was another loud _thud_ from the door. They were trying to break it down.

"They could be right around the corner!" I protested.

"You wanna stay here?" _Thud_. "Our best chance is this way."

"Okay," I agreed, and picked up my bag.

"Leave that," he said. "Less weight you're carrying, the better."

_Thud. Crack!_

"Hurry up!" he hissed.

I dropped my bag to the floor and pulled my jacket out of it. After putting it on, I strapped my belt around my hips, knife and machete attached.

"Here." Daryl held out a pistol.

"Don't you need that?" _Thud. Crack._

"I got another one. Let's go."

I tucked the pistol into my belt and climbed out the window. The alley was quiet. The car I'd seen parked out on the street was gone. I eyed the dumpster as Daryl hopped down after me. There was surely someone hiding behind it, waiting for us to pass by. Daryl must have had the same thought, as he'd loaded his crossbow and was stepping carefully towards it. I followed closely, machete drawn and ready.

Inside the store, the intruders managed to break through the door with a final loud _CRACK_. As the footsteps inside approached the window, Daryl reached the side of the dumpster and whipped his crossbow around the corner at whatever might be hiding on the other side. A foot came up and kicked it back at him, throwing off his balance for a moment, just as three sets of heavy boots hit the ground behind me. I barely turned in time to see the bat coming straight for my head. I ducked out of the way, slicing my blade through the air. It hit the man's thigh, cutting it nearly in half. Blood spurted everywhere as he tried to hold himself up with the bat. The other two men came at me with their own sharp weapons, but I'd already turned and run out of their reach. Daryl was wrestling with the one who'd been hiding behind the dumpster. He had the attacker's throat in the crook of his elbow and was slowly pressing the air out of him, but the man was struggling, his arms flailing and scratching Daryl's face repeatedly. Without another thought, I plunged my blade into his ribcage and he fell out of Daryl's grip. The other two were close behind as we sprinted from the alley.

Our feet hit the asphalt hard as we ran down the dark street. Daryl turned and fired an arrow, hitting one of the men in the shoulder, but it didn't bring him down. They didn't seem to have guns. If they did, they were smart enough not to use them and risk attracting walkers. Daryl struggled to load another arrow onto his bow, falling behind a few steps just before it locked into place. I glanced over my shoulder. The men were only a few feet behind us. There was no choice but to stop.

As if we'd had the exact same thought, we turned around, stopping instantly. Our followers' momentum kept them from slowing in time to avoid the end of my machete and Daryl's arrow. They hit the sharp ends at the same time. I felt my blade go clean through the man's spine and out the other end. His eyes, wide and shocked, stared at me as he went still and fell to the ground. I was just as stunned. I let the handle slip from my hand with the body still attached to the blade.

Daryl's hand on my shoulder made me flinch. I hadn't realized that my entire body was tense. My eyes were still glued to the impaled corpse at my feet. I'd killed two people out of self-defense before, but that didn't mean it was easier to kill two more.

Daryl must have realized what was going through my mind. He dropped his hand and stuck an arrow into the man's head. He'd already taken care of the other one.

My breath hitched in my throat. "The other two," I croaked.

"What?"

"The ones— in the alley. Their heads— we didn't—"

Daryl shook his head. "They don't matter. We should go. There might be more of 'em."

I could feel the muscles in my face start to twitch, my chin, my eyebrows. I clenched my teeth, resisting the tears that were fighting their way to the surface. I felt sick, but not like I was going to throw up. It was a more twisting, weightless feeling that threatened to rip my consciousness from me. I reached out with one hand, gripping Daryl's jacket as I swayed with dizziness. I thought he would offer some stability, maybe put an arm around me for comfort, but before I knew what was happening, the back of my head hit the hard ground. I hadn't fallen. I'd been pushed. The pain in my elbow and tailbone confirmed that.

I pushed myself upright to see Daryl yanking his knife out of a walker's head. It was the man whose leg I'd sliced. He'd bled to death faster than I thought. I hadn't heard it coming. Daryl must have pushed me out of harm's way before it got me but I was too weak to catch myself. He hurried to my side to check on my wounds.

"You okay?" he asked. I just nodded. Luckily my hair had been tied up in a bun at the back of my head to soften the blow. My elbow was bleeding badly, though. The ground had scraped it up. I noticed then that Daryl's face was also bleeding from a few shallow cuts along his cheeks and forehead. Those must have come from the guy he had in a headlock in the alley.

"You're bleeding," I said as I regained my thoughts.

"So are you," he replied.

"I know." I twisted my arm to look at my elbow. The pain from the impact was worse than the pain from the broken skin. It throbbed terribly. "My bag," I said. "I had a first aid kit in there."

"Can't go back for it now," he replied. "There might be others."

"We should find another store, then," I said. "I need to clean and wrap this. And those cuts on your face are gonna get infected soon."

Daryl stood and held out his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. We looked around, observing our surroundings. We were in front of a strip mall whose windows were mostly boarded up. Across the street from it was a park lined with trees. It was too dark to see past the sidewalk.

"Maybe there's a drugstore down the street," I said, and started walking. I swallowed. My throat was dry. I needed water.

Daryl caught up to me, my machete in his hand. I'd forgotten to pull it out of the body. He grabbed the sheath hanging from my belt and slid the blade into it. I thought the word thanks but wasn't sure if I said it out loud.

"You did what you had to," he said quietly as we walked side by side down the dark street. "Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

"His eyes," I said, my voice nearly a whisper. I couldn't get that bug-eyed stare out of my mind.

"That woulda been you if you didn't kill him first."

"I was trained to save lives, not take them," I said. "After the first time, it took two weeks for my stomach to accept food again."

"It ain't easy for me neither," Daryl said. "But there's no other option if I wanna live."

"I know," I said. "I understand that. But that doesn't make it any less sickening."

"It'll go away," he replied.

"Did Rick ask you those three questions, too?"

"Nah, he didn't come up with those till after I already knew him."

"How did you meet him, anyway? You don't seem like people who would have talked to each other before."

"There used to be others with us," he explained. "One of 'em was his partner from the force. Rick's wife was with us, too. They both thought he was dead. Said they left him in a hospital. Then one day Glenn finds him hidin' in a tank in the middle of Atlanta and brings him back to our camp. Shoulda seen their faces."

"What happened to them?"

"Got bit," he said, but something about the way he said it made it seem like there was more to the story.

"Sorry," I said. I didn't want to pry a sensitive subject, but the distraction of conversation helped ease my nerves. "My brother was bitten," I continued, venturing into the territory of sharing things. "He was seven. Shit had just started going bad. They got into our parents' house. He was home alone. I stopped by to check on him and found him bleeding on the floor. He told me not to let him get bad. Said he wanted to stay a person. So I hugged him tight and stuck a knife into his brainstem. It's instant that way."

Both of us were quiet for several minutes after I'd finished speaking. Telling the story hadn't made me sad. It reminded me of how strong my brother was.

"My brother was already turned when I killed him." Daryl's voice finally broke the silence with the last words I was expecting to hear. I looked at him. He was staring straight ahead. "He was shot. Left to turn. I stabbed him in the head seven times."

"Wow," I said. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he replied. "Did what I had to."

I could feel the warm blood dripping down my arm. I was letting it hang at my side when I should have been keeping it elevated to minimize blood loss. I would need water, alcohol, and clean bandages. A tube of Neosporin would come in handy for Daryl's face, but it wasn't likely that we'd find any.

I was starting to have rational thoughts again. My mind was clearing up. That was definitely a good sign.

We finally came across a drugstore that, aside from the shattered windows and ransacked interior, didn't look too hopeless.

We rummaged through the debris in search of anything useful. Our flashlights didn't offer much light, but it was better than nothing. l stepped over an overturned clothing rack that had once held cheap sweaters and t-shirts and made my way to the wall where the refrigerated drinks would have been. I wasn't surprised to see that there was nothing left behind the glass doors. There was shelf leaning against the glass a few feet away. I stepped carefully over to it as Daryl hopped over the pharmacy counter.

"Bandages, not meds," I called to him. There was probably nothing left back there, anyway. I reached down and pulled up the shelf. It had once held countless bottles of liquor, but now all it held was the yellow price labels along the edges. I looked at the floor beneath it. I couldn't believe my luck. There was a plastic bottle of cheap vodka that had survived every previous raid of the place. Maybe there was still some water left, too.

I picked up the bottle and went to the pharmacy counter. Daryl was somewhere in the back where I couldn't see him, so I climbed over to go find him.

He was in a small office that had also been searched, but not as thoroughly. He was sitting in the desk chair, his head ducked under the table. And right there on the desktop stood three unopened bottles of water.

"Daryl?"

The thump of head against desk told me I'd startled him. He sat up straight, rubbing the back of his head. "Jesus, don't do that," he said.

"Sorry." I set down the bottle of vodka beside the water.

"Don't think gettin' plastered's gonna help much," he said when he saw the label.

"It's not for drinking, genius. I need it to clean our cuts."

"Last people to rob this place didn't think to look in the good doctor's mini fridge," he said, indicating the water.

"I noticed," I replied. "Anything else in there?"

"Rotten sandwich that smells like ass."

"I think we're good, then."

"D'you find bandages?"

"No."

Daryl turned around and pulled a white lab coat from the back of the chair. "Will this work?"

* * *

We managed to make it back to the van by dawn. We wanted a safer place to rest and clean the blood off our skin than the middle of a drugstore in shambles. We'd each downed a bottle of water in big gulps, thrown the rest of the bottles and the lab coat into a plastic bag, and made it out of the town in one piece.

We sat inside the back of the van, doors locked and windows up. We were gonna have to make another run to find gas. Resting was a little more important now.

Daryl sat facing my right side, bottle of vodka in hand. I held my arm out, elbow up so he could clean it.

"Pour enough to cover the scrape and use part of the lab coat to dab the blood. Don't wipe it. And be gentle with the pressure."

"I've done this before. Relax," he countered. He let some of the liquor trickle onto the broken skin of my elbow. It stung, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing I was still feeling from the impact. If I'd fallen any harder I would have broken the bone. Then I'd really be screwed.

When he was done cleaning the blood away, he tore a long piece of cloth from the lab coat and wrapped it tightly around the wound. "Thanks," I said, bending and flexing my elbow. It hurt, but so did the rest of me. "Your turn."

I used my knife to cut off a small piece of the coat and soaked it in vodka. I rearranged myself so I was facing Daryl and started dabbing at a cut along his jaw. He barely winced.

"He really got you good," I observed as I cleaned. "Who knows what was under those nails of his." I brushed his bangs aside to check his forehead. There was only one scratch and it was small, but I cleaned it anyway. The worst one was on his cheek. It was long and deep and the blood dripping from it had stained half his face. The skin was easy enough to wipe clean, but the cut itself was bad and I didn't have the tape from my first aid kit. Luckily it wasn't bleeding anymore, but any bit of pressure or movement could open it up again. "You're just gonna have to be careful with that one," I said. "It's deep and I can't stitch it up."

"I'll be fine," he said. In my EMT mindset, I'd been entirely focused on cleaning the scratches. But now that I was almost done, I was starting to become fully aware of how close his face was to mine, how his skin felt under my fingers. It was softer now that it was actually clean. I'd gotten rid of most of the dirt since it was all mixed with the blood. I stole a glance at his eyes, which were looking somewhere over my shoulder. They were a pure, crystal blue that suddenly made my throat feel dry. I let my gaze fall over the rest of his face as I dabbed absently at a small cut. I wondered how he'd react if I kissed him. Would he push me away? Be completely repulsed? Would he kiss me back? I felt like a teenager with a stupid crush, but I couldn't help my thoughts.

I didn't let myself think any more of those dumb thoughts. They'd only drive me crazy. I dropped the hand that was cleaning his face and leaned forward before I could stop myself. I hesitated for a moment when my lips were barely an inch from his. He didn't move back, didn't pull away. I forgot how to breathe. Then I pressed my lips to his. They were chapped and dry, but so were mine and I didn't care. I didn't know what I was expecting to happen, so anything would have been a surprise. I felt his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb on my cheek. He was pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. My heart gave a lurch. It felt like it was beating in my stomach. My ribcage filled with heat. I'd forgotten what this felt like. It was the best thing I'd felt in a long time. I wanted more. The warmth in my belly made me want to grab him, touch every inch of him, but the bit of rationality I had left reminded me of what a bad idea that would be.

I broke the kiss but kept my forehead against his. I didn't want to open my eyes. Didn't want to come back to the dim reality I was stuck in. He dropped his hand from my neck to my arm. "You need to sleep," he said. His voice was raspy. I hated him for sounding like that when resistance was so important.

"Yeah," I whispered, opening my eyes but keeping them down. "I think I should." I didn't look at him again. I just crawled into the front passenger seat and reclined it as far as it would go. I drifted into a dreamless sleep, completely clueless as to whether the knot in my stomach was good or bad.


	8. Desperation

_I held his tiny body in my arms as he bled from the wound in his neck. "Don't let me get bad," he'd said. I gripped the knife in my hand. I couldn't do it. I couldn't move. He was still alive. My baby brother. He was gripping my sleeve with his little hand. "I wanna stay a person."_

_There was a creak in the floorboards. I looked up. Daryl was standing in the doorway, his gaze fixated on my face. Then his eyes dropped to the my brother. I looked down. He was dead. His throat had been ripped out. I felt something warm dribbling down my chin. It dropped onto his shirt. It was red. I looked at my hands. They were pale and greenish. I looked back up at Daryl and tried to speak, but all that came out was a growl from the back of my throat. I didn't know how to form words._

_I stood. Tried to step closer to Daryl. My legs didn't feel right. I tried to scream, to call to him for help. He glared at me. Then he raised his crossbow and shot me between the eyes. I felt death swim over me. It only lasted a moment, like I was submerging myself in a warm bath._

My eyes opened to the sun beating down on the windshield. It felt like I had dropped directly from my dream into the front seat of the van with nothing in between. My heart was still pounding. I was sweating. The feeling of relief that washed over me calmed me down, but it only lasted a moment before I saw the red ribbon tied to one of the windshield wipers. I remained absolutely still as I stared at it. It was them. They knew we were here. They were probably watching us.

I looked over to the driver's seat, moving only my eyes. It was empty.

"Daryl," I whispered. I could hear him fussing with his pistol behind my seat. "Daryl," I tried again, a little louder this time, but kept absolutely still. "Stay where you are. But look at the windshield wiper." There was silence behind me as he paused his work.

"What is it?" he asked, keeping his voice low to match mine.

"The ribbon on the wiper. Someone tied it there. Did you see anyone?"

"No," he replied.

"The brick. The one they threw through the window. It had the exact same ribbon tied around it. I think they found us. I think they're outside."

"I've been awake," he said. "I haven't seen anything."

"Then they're being careful," I said. "They must have put it there when you weren't looking. What do we do?"

"Sit up a bit. See if you can see anyone."

Everything in me told me not to move, but staying where I was would be counterproductive. I lifted my head off the seat and strained my neck to look towards the trees. Nothing. I pushed myself all the way up and leaned forward to get a better look. There was no one there. Not even a walker. They had to be hiding. There were plenty of trees along the road to keep them concealed.

"I don't see anything," I said.

"Then we better go now." I turned around. He was strapping his crossbow to his back and tucking his gun into his belt. Adrenaline shot through my chest as I thought about going outside and facing another fight. I was so tired of fighting. Of running.

Daryl climbed into the driver's seat and looked out the window. The coast seemed to be clear. "You ready?"

"No," I said, but I had already strapped my belt back on. "Do you have any sort of a plan?"

"Walk until we need to run."

"Walk until we need to run," I echoed with a humorless laugh. "Great."

We opened our doors slowly. I peeked out towards the back of the van. The road beyond it was clear. I stepped down from the seat, keeping my eyes on the trees for any sign of movement. I felt completely exposed. I suddenly wished I had a bulletproof vest. I got to wear one once on a call. It was heavy and solid, but I had still feared for my unprotected head.

"You ever been shot?" I asked quietly as we made our way down the road, neither one of us removing our eyes from the trees for a single moment.

"Yeah," he said. "You?"

"Once."

"Before?"

"Yeah. I was part of the team that responded to a shootout. Turned out they weren't done shooting."

"Musta left a nice scar."

"I was wearing a vest."

"That don't count."

"It knocked the wind out of me. I felt the full force of it. It counts."

"It don't count unless you bleed."

"Where'd youget shot?"

"The head."

"Bullshit."

"Dumbass thought I was a walker. Lucky she just grazed me."

He pulled his knife from his belt and killed the walker that stumbled out from behind a tree.

"Grazed doesn't count."

"I was hit with a bullet. It counts."

"If I wasn't wearing the vest, the bullet would have been lodged in my liver. If yours counts, so does mine."

"Why you wanna know, anyway?"

"I was just thinking how useful a vest would be right now and it reminded me of it."

"Vests are useless if you get shot in the head."

"I don't think they wanna kill us. They might try to take us like the others."

"We don't even know if it's the same people."

A walker came at me from the trees. I sliced its head off.

We kept walking until we reached the edge of town again. It almost seemed too easy. I looked up to the tops of the buildings. I didn't see anyone looking down from the roofs. The place was just as deserted as before.

There was nothing to suggest that we were about to be knocked out from behind and dragged away.

* * *

The first thing I noticed when I came to was the splitting pain on the side of my head. My entire brain was throbbing. It felt like my skull was trying to crush it. There was a spot on my temple that stung and I felt something warm. I was probably bleeding. I tried to lift my hand to touch the wound, but something held it tight. I lifted my head. I was slouched on the ground, my hands tied to a pipe behind my back. I was in some sort of warehouse or garage that had been cleaned out.

_Calm. Remain calm. Deep breath. _I twisted my hands. The rope was tight. Daryl was across the room, still unconscious. He was also tied to a pipe. I wanted to call out to him to try and wake him up, but I didn't want whoever took us to hear me and come back. We were alone for now, but odds were there was a guard posted outside the big metal door that led to the outside.

I kept twisting my hands in an effort to loosen the rope. Maybe I could slip free with enough pulling. It was starting to burn my skin, but I was desperate.

"Daryl!" I whispered loudly. No response. "Daryl!" I tried again. He was out cold.

I could hear a commotion outside. And laughter. Then the door opened and a man whose face I couldn't see pushed a walker into the room, slamming the door behind it. I went dead still. It clawed at the door, trying to get at the meat on the other side. It was still unaware of the other two meals tied up right behind it. I tried desperately not to panic. I kept twisting and pulling at the rope. It hurt like crazy, but I had to break free. I wasn't about to die in a situation like this. Not after everything else. Not with the others still out there somewhere.

Daryl grunted. He was waking up. _Perfect fucking timing, you idiot. _The walker noticed. It turned away from the door and started ambling over to him.

"DARYL!" I screamed, abandoning all discretion. "DARYL, WAKE UP!" The walker turned to me. "Yeah, come at me, you rotting piece of shit!" I yelled at it. "This way! Come on!" I kicked at the ground to keep it coming towards me. I had mere seconds before it reached me and I was dead. The hatred in me was boiling over. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to rip the thing to shreds. I gave one final painful pull at the rope and my right hand came free. I scrambled to untangle the rope from around the pipe and rolled out of the way just as the walker swooped its long, dead arms down for me. Lying on my back, I kicked my feet hard into its legs, sending it toppling to the ground. It started dragging itself back towards me as I scrambled to my feet and ran to Daryl. He was awake now, but still groggy and unaware of what was going on.

I went straight for his wrists to untie him. This rope was thicker. They must have thought he'd put up the bigger fight. Assholes. I couldn't get the knot to budge. I felt a set of boney fingers grip my ankle. I turned and kicked the walker hard in the head. It wasn't enough. It reached again.

"Get the fuck off me!" I shouted as if it could understand me. I lunged for it and plunged my fist into its skull as hard as I possibly could. There was a deafening crack. I'd managed to break the bone, but my hand hadn't gone all the way through. I shifted around and slammed the heel of my boot into its head to finish the job. Then I lifted my foot and brought it down again and again and again until there was nothing left but a red pile of brains and some bone fragments.

My body went limp on the ground as I tried to catch my breath.

"Liza," Daryl croaked. I sat up and turned to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, pushing his hair out of his face. He was still lying on the ground and pulling at his ropes.

"The fuck?" he said when he realized what had happened. He yanked against his rope, getting more aggravated.

"Don't, you'll make it tighter," I said and tried again to untie it. The knot was massive, but it didn't look like any old tangle. It was definitely some sort of sailor's knot that took practice to perfect. Who were these guys?

I reached to my belt for my knife, but the holster was empty. Of course. Knife, gun, machete, all gone.

The door opened again and two more walkers were pushed in.

"Hurry up!" Daryl yelled at me as I continued picking at the knot to no avail.

"I can't untie it!" I was growing hysterical. The walkers were right on top of us. Daryl kicked one of them away. I had to improvise. The rope that had held me was still tied to my left wrist. I grabbed the other end of it with my right hand went for the second walker, pulling the rope around its throat and narrowly avoiding its groping hands. I stepped behind it and yanked, pulling it stumbling backwards towards the other walker, which was dragging itself across the ground. I stomped hard on its head, smashing its skull, and dragged my captive to the pipe I'd been tied to. There was very little space between the pipe and the wall. It wasn't enough for a person to fit through. Or a walker. I pulled the walker to the wall beside the pipe and quickly fed the loose end of the rope between the rusty metal and the wall and pulled. The walker got stuck partway behind the pipe. I kept pulling with all my might until the rope crushed its neck, collapsed its windpipe, until there was only spine between the pipe and the rope. Still, the thing reached for me, trying to get a bite of my hand.

The door opened a third time. _Fuck. _Four walkers this time.

"Liza!" Daryl shouted. He was closer to the door and all four of them were headed for him. I gave the rope a hard yank and the walker's head snapped clean off.

I ran back to the others and started kicking them back. Four was too many. I was starting to think they'd just keep coming until we lost the fight. Maybe, if I had time to concentrate, I could figure out how to untie the complicated knot holding Daryl down.

"I think I can untie it," I said after I kicked another one back. "I just need a minute."

"You don't got a minute!" Daryl barked.

No. I didn't have a minute. All I had was a piece of rope attached to my arm. I stepped between the walkers and Daryl until they were just close enough to reach out for me. Then I stepped to the side, clapping, stomping, making all the noise I could to lure them away like the first one.

"This way!" I yelled at them. They followed. I stepped backwards away from them as I tried to wriggle my left hand out of the rope. The bandage Daryl wrapped it with after he almost ran me over with his bike came off. The cut still hurt where the rock had dug in, but it was just a big scab now. I managed to pull my hand free just as my back hit the wall.

"Hey!" Daryl shouted. "Come back here!" Two of the walkers turned back to him. "Come and get me!"

I took the rope and wrapped it around the neck of one of the walkers that stayed with me. I had to duck fast to avoid the other one. I threw the rope around that one's neck and pulled them both to the pipe. I gave the rope some slack, sliding my hands to the ends to put a bit of distance between myself and the rotters, and tied it to the pipe faster than I'd ever tied anything before. The walkers were stuck there now.

I ran back to Daryl, who was barely able keep the last two away. I grabbed one by the shirt and threw it hard to the ground, then grabbed the other one by the hair and pulled so hard its neck snapped and it collapsed, still growling but unable to move.

I turned back just in time to see the last walker reach for Daryl's face. He couldn't kick it since it was closer to his head. I swung my foot and kicked it hard like a soccer ball. The toe of my boot got stuck in its skull. I could feel the blood seeping in through the worn out seams. I almost gagged and yanked my foot back out.

"I can't take this shit anymore!" I snapped and crouched down beside Daryl. "I'm gonna fucking lose it!"

My fingers messed with the rope again. I'd never been so frustrated in my life. I dug my nails between the fibers, pulled and twisted and picked so hard I thought they would snap off.

The door opened again.

"No, FUCK YOU!" I screamed, keeping my focus on the knot. Finally, I was able to slip a finger into the knot and wiggle it around. It seemed to work. It was loosening. The walkers coming at us were right at Daryl's ankles when I pulled the rope off and his hands came free. He jumped to his feet and started swinging his fists at their heads, throwing them into the wall, kicking their knees in so they bent the wrong way. He was a tornado of rage, and I didn't doubt he could take them all on his own.

When we'd finally crushed the head of the last one, everything was silent, except for the growling of the two tied to the pipe across the room. There were no more voices outside, the door didn't open again. Had they run out of walkers? Was this some sick game and we'd just earned our freedom? I stared at the door, panting, waiting for something else to happen. My legs were shaking. I could barely stand. I couldn't control the whimper that escaped my throat. My wrists felt like they were on fire, no doubt severely rope burned, but I couldn't bring myself to look.

We waited a few more long moments before Daryl moved toward the door. I would have protested, but I wanted to get out as badly as he did and standing there wasn't going to make that happen. We were armed with nothing but our own hands as we pushed the door open to whatever might be waiting on the other side.


	9. Distraction

The first thing I noticed was the fog, and that was only because it was all I could see. There was a light breeze accompanied by a sharp chill. I could hear something metal squeaking nearby, like the wind was pushing it but it was resisting with a whimper. We stood there, waiting. Something was bound to ambush us from the cover of the thick fog, but nothing did. I didn't dare take a breath. I kept my ears pricked for any sound.

Something bright caught the corner of my eye. I looked down and saw another red ribbon tied to the door handle. I nudged Daryl and pointed it out. He didn't seem to know what to make of it.

"C'mon," he said, and started walking into the fog. I followed closely. The ground wasn't paved. We were walking on gravel. The sound of each step we took was deafening. At least we'd hear any walkers coming our way long before they reached us.

The fog started to thin after a while. The chill remained in the air but the sun was coming up, filling the dim grey nothingness with yellow light. I thought I could see something high up in the distance. It almost looked like a giant metal snake.

"Daryl," I said, grabbing his arm. "I think we're in an amusement park."

"So? You wanna get on a ride or somethin'?"

"There's all kinds of shit lying around that we can use as weapons," I replied.

As the fog lifted, I could make out the entrance to a funhouse. The doorway was pitch black inside and the crazy eyes of the clown staring down at us made me want to keep a wide berth of the place.

"There's some chains," Daryl pointed out. The queue line in front of the funhouse was lined with chains that were just the right length to be useful.

"This could work," I said, unclipping one end of a chain from the pole. It wasn't rusty. The shiny silver metal was in perfect condition. I unclipped the other end and swung it around a few times to test its usefulness as a weapon. Maybe if something heavy was attached to the other end it would actually be lethal. While I was busy detaching more chains and wrapping them around my shoulder and waist like a heavy metal sash, Daryl made his way over to the entrance of the funhouse. He started kicking hard at the side of the plywood facade. It made a lot of noise, but the place was so empty I doubted anyone-or anything-would hear it.

My thoughts were immediately contradicted when three walkers came shuffling out of the funhouse. I hurried over to fight them off, but Daryl had already loosened a two-by-four and was swinging at the walker's heads. The long, crooked nails sticking out of the end made it an effective weapon. He took down one, then the second. I wanted to test my shiny new chain. I swung the end of it around and around, then, with the amassed momentum, whipped it into the last walker's head. It lodged itself halfway into the deadened brain.

"You better ditch those soon as you get somethin' better. Makes too much noise," Daryl said. "You're like a walkin' maraca."

I snorted, amused at the comparison. He had a point, though. Useful as the chains were, I could barely take a step without them jingling. I was slightly more worried about other people hearing them than walkers. I had no idea where our captors had gone, but I didn't exclude the possibility that they were hiding nearby.

"So, what now?" I asked as Daryl ripped a metal stake from the base of the facade.

"Now we get the hell outta here before they come back," he replied.

I followed him as he picked a direction and started walking. We were headed for the giant metal snake that I could now clearly see used to be a roller coaster. I'd seen pictures of abandoned amusement parks before, but none of them were as eerie as the one we were walking through.

When we got to the roller coaster, it started becoming rather difficult to maneuver our way underneath it. A good amount of foliage had sprouted in the absence of humanity and started creeping up the poles supporting the track. We tripped and stumbled our way through to the other side where a chain link fence blocked our way out. Daryl gripped the thin metal with his fingers and started yanking in an effort to detach it from the poles. I looked directly upwards at the rusty track above us. I imagined a train full of screaming riders flying by, but their screams weren't of fear. They were having fun. It was a strange concept to me now. Fun meant distraction, and distraction meant almost certain death by being eaten alive.

Daryl's efforts were useless. The fence wouldn't give.

"Maybe there's a gate further down," I suggested. We started walking along the fence in search of a weak spot. A few yards down there was, in fact, a gate that would let us out were it not for the chain and massive padlock holding it shut.

I reached my hand through the fence and gave the lock a pull, but it was rusted shut. The thing was the size of my palm. There was no way we could possibly pry it open. Then I got an idea.

"Lemme see that stake you found," I said to Daryl. He handed it over. There was only a short piece of wire holding the fence to the frame of the gate, the ends bent to loop around the wire of the fence. "Maybe I can get these open," I said, and stuck the sharp end of the stake into one of the loops. I had to wiggle it around a bit, but the loop started to give way. Daryl grabbed the metal and unhooked it from the fence. I pushed chain links out. It gave us enough room to climb through.

Once on the other side, I tried pulling at the padlock again. I could tether it to one of my chains for added weight and effectiveness. If I could only get it loose.

Behind me, I heard a splat and Daryl shouted, "Liza!" I turned to see a large group of walkers coming at us. Daryl was swinging at them with his two-by-four. I handed the stake back to him and started swinging my chain. I managed to take two of them out, but it got stuck in the third one's skull. I scrambled to undo another chain from around my shoulder, but I was too slow. A walker grabbed ahold of my arm and lowered its head to take a bite. I tried to yank my arm away, but its bony grip was strong.

"Daryl!" I screamed. He turned around and sank the stake right into the thing's head just as its teeth reached my skin. I pushed the body to the ground and nearly fell over the root of a tree as I stumbled backwards. That had been a close call. It almost had me. My fingers shook as I unclipped a chain and unwrapped it from myself. Daryl had gone back to fighting. I tried to regain my composure. I couldn't let him take care of the whole crowd, but I was finding it hard to settle my nerves.

I nearly tripped again, but this time it was over a body. I looked down to see the corpse of a man that wasn't rotted and hungry yet. There was a bullet hole in his temple. And a pistol gripped in his right hand. He'd killed himself. At first I thought it was to save himself from turning, but then I realized not a single bite had been taken from his flesh. Maybe he'd just outrun the mob we were currently facing and had decided to end it before they could catch up. Or maybe he'd been murdered. Maybe someone else had shot him. I was trying to think of any scenario that didn't suggest that he'd simply lost all hope in the world as it had become.

I crouched down beside him and examined the hand holding the gun. There was no gunshot residue. I pulled the gun out of his rigor-induced grip. My eyes widened when I saw the crumpled up piece of red ribbon in his palm. I pulled it out. One end of it looked frayed, like it had been sawed through with a dull knife. Nothing about it told me whether it was his or if it had been planted there by someone else. Maybe his killer had put it there. But then why hadn't said killer taken the perfectly good gun? I checked the magazine. Every bullet was there. He had indeed been murdered.

I was about to check the bullet wound to see if I could determine whether it was close range or not, but Daryl's shouts distracted me. "Get the fuck up and help me!" he yelled over his shoulder. _Fuck. _I'd been completely ignoring the problem at hand.

I ran back to his side and unloaded the gun into the heads of the last seven walkers.

"Got eight rounds left," I said.

"There's probably more comin' cause of that racket," he replied. "Where'd you get that?"

"Off that body back there." I pointed to the dead man I'd tripped over. Daryl walked over to him and nudged him with his boot.

"Think he's one of them?" he asked.

"Could be," I replied. "Someone else killed him, though."

"How do you know?"

"No GSR on his hand," I explained. "And the magazine was full. He didn't get a chance to fire."

"They teach you CSI crap in paramedic school?"

"Enough to know how serious a gunshot wound is," I replied. "Plus I used to watch a lot of cop shows."

"I thought those were all bullshit."

"Not everything." I crouched down beside him again to get a better look at the bullet hole. It was hard to tell whether the dust on his skin was just dirt or if there was gunpowder mixed in as well.

"Stand up slowly," Daryl said, his voice quiet. I looked up at him, surprised at his sudden change of mood. He looked like he was trying to keep his eyes down to avoid seeing something overhead. I did as I was told.

"What is it?" I asked, tightening my grip on the gun.

"There's someone on the tracks," he replied. I froze. Was someone watching us from high up on the roller coaster behind me? Was that someone armed? "He has a gun," Daryl confirmed. "Big one. Rifle."

"Is it aimed at us?" I asked, my voice shaking a bit.

"No," he replied. "But he's climbing down."

Daryl and I exchanged a worried glance before taking off into the trees.

We ran and ran until my lungs started to feel like they were on fire and I thought my heart would give out. Any walkers we passed along the way weren't worth the trouble of slowing down to kill them, so we ran right by, turning occasionally to avoid the ones directly in our path. After what felt like an hour of running with nothing following us, we were still surrounded by trees. The middle of the woods was the last place I wanted to get lost.

"There's a shed!" Daryl shouted as we approached a tiny wooden shack that blended in perfectly with its surroundings.

We slowed to a careful walk several yards away in case anyone inside heard us. I couldn't catch my breath. I was breathing hard from the running and could hear nothing but my own wheezing. Daryl was panting, too, but he managed to keep it quiet as he stepped closer to the shed, stake gripped in his hand. He peered inside the window, then turned back to me and waved me over.

Heart still pounding, I approached the window and looked inside. It was empty, except for one man asleep on the floor. His back was to the window, so it was hard to tell if he was armed.

"Should we go in?" I whispered. "He's alone. I think we could take him if we have to."

Daryl considered for a moment, then nodded his approval. We stepped around the shed to the door. It looked like it was about to fall off its hinges the way it hung crooked in the doorway. The man inside must have been insanely tired to risk going to sleep with little to no protection. Or maybe he was already dead. I hoped he was alive and well, regardless of whether he would mean us harm or not. Maybe he'd be able to help us. Maybe he'd seen something or someone that could lead us to the others. I'd been getting more and more worried about them and the state they might be in. They were good fighters, of course, but if they were outnumbered by men with guns and a will to hurt, all hope might be lost.

I tried to shake the negative thoughts from my mind as Daryl reached for the door. Slowly, he pulled it open with a loud creak, but the sound was instantly outdone by the crash of metal cans that came falling from the top of the doorway inside. The man had set a booby trap. I jumped nearly a foot in the air, raising my gun and aiming it inside. Daryl did the same with his stake, his other hand resting on the two-by-four tucked into his belt.

I looked up from the pile of cans to see that the sleeping man had jumped to his feet and was now standing with his own gun pointed at us.

"Drop it!" I yelled at him.

"Drop yours!" he yelled back.

There was a moment where none of us moved, but then Daryl stepped inside the shed and I heard him say, "Holy shit."

The man was mostly hidden in shadow, but I saw him lower his gun. I kept mine raised, just in case. But then he stepped toward us, and as he came into the light, I could make out a face.

It was Rick.


	10. Confusion

"How'd you find me?" Rick asked as he hugged Daryl.

"By accident," Daryl replied. "Runnin' from people."

"They won't find us out here," Rick said.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Not long," he replied. "Couple days."

"You find anything?" Daryl asked, his voice low. I knew he was referring to the others. It almost seemed like I was eavesdropping on a conversation between family members and I was a stranger. I hadn't even been a part of their group for more than a few days before it got torn apart. I figured it would be a good idea to stand aside while they talked. I didn't like feeling like an intruder.

I moved further into the shed, tucked my gun into my belt, and slid to the floor against the wall opposite the door, keeping my knees to my chest. Rick and Daryl hardly seemed to notice.

"I was followin' some people for awhile," Rick said to Daryl, both of them still standing by the door. "Turned out it wasn't them. I got no leads."

"We been lookin' for you," Daryl said. "Took off right after you but you disappeared. Then those people we were runnin' from found us. Hell of a story."

After Rick shut and secured the door, the two of them sat down against another wall and Daryl started telling him everything that had happened to us. The shed was barely the size of a small bedroom, but I still felt like there was a good deal of distance between us. I could hear every word Daryl said, but those words weren't for me. I'd lived it and I wasn't too keen on reliving it.

I looked around the tiny room. It was dark, the sunlight only allowed in by a single dusty window. There were cobwebs in every corner, dust on every surface, and a few dead leaves strewn about. Rick had been sleeping on the hard floor, using what looked like an old backpack as a pillow. He must have picked it up somewhere along the way out here as he'd chased after the truck with no more than his gun and the clothes on his back. The top of it was unzipped. I could see what looked like an old t-shirt and a belt sticking out a bit. But something else caught my eye. Something thin and flat and red. A sudden realization came over me, but I wanted it contradicted because what was going through my mind at that moment was the last thing I wanted.

I straightened one of my legs. It reached the bag. Daryl and Rick were busy with their conversation, so I had a good chance to nudge the t-shirt with the toe of my boot and get a better look at the bit of red underneath it. I still couldn't really see it, so I gently placed my heel on top of it and dragged it out a few inches. It was a ribbon. The same red ribbon. The end of it was frayed exactly like the last piece had been. That piece had been cut from this one.

This whole time I believed Rick was one of the good guys. He'd welcomed me into his group, and then lost them not two days later. I thought for a moment that he was one of them, one of the men who'd taken us, but I couldn't figure out why. Had he been with them that night in the sporting goods store? Had he been watching us this whole time? Maybe he'd been helping us and leaving the ribbons as a sign of safety, but why hadn't he come to us and made himself known? My suspicion was growing with every illogical thought, and I didn't like it.

I was suddenly aware of the absence of voices. They'd stopped talking. I looked up to see them looking right back at me.

"You alright, Liza?" Rick asked, his voice calm and slightly worried. What an actor. Why hadn't he mentioned anything about the ribbons yet? What was he hiding?

"Daryl, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked as I stood up and motioned toward the door. He and Rick exchanged a bewildered glance, but Daryl got up and followed me outside.

I kept walking, trying to get out of earshot of the shed.

"Somethin' wrong?" Daryl's voice came from behind me. When I was satisfied with the distance, I stopped and turned to him.

"Did you see what was in his bag?" I asked. Daryl looked confused, like I'd just asked the most irrelevant question I could think of.

"What?"

"His bag. It was open. I saw the ribbon in it. The red ribbon we've been finding everywhere those guys are."

"So?"

"Daryl, what if he's with them? Why would he have it?"

"With them? What are talkin' about, with them? You gone crazy or somethin'?" He was looking at me like I'd insulted his family, which, really, I did. But I had to be sure. I had to find out the truth.

"Think about it for a second," I insisted. "One of those ribbons showed up every time those guys did. If he was trying to help us, why didn't he say anything? Why did he hide?"

I could tell Daryl was starting to get mad. I could only hope he was just as confused as I was.

"You tryin' to tell me you think he's comin' after us when his kids are still out there somewhere?" he said. "You really think it was him that locked us in a room with those walkers? _He_ tried to kill us at the store?"

"Why does he have the ribbon? It doesn't make any sense."

"Fuck your goddamn ribbon!" he shot back. "It don't mean he's tryin' to get us killed!"

"I don't even know him! What am I supposed to think?" I was getting angrier as well. I didn't know what to make of any of it.

"You weren't askin' questions when he fed you and let you sleep under his roof!" Daryl shouted at me. "Now we get out of some tough shit alive and the first person you see is the one who did it?"

"I'm putting the facts together, Daryl! Someone tries to kill us, there's a ribbon. Someone's watching us, there's a ribbon. Someone tries to get us eaten alive, there's another fucking ribbon! We find him out here and he happens to have the same one in his bag. If he isn't one of them, he damn sure knows about them and didn't do shit about it!"

"Maybe it ain't his bag! Maybe he killed one of 'em and took it! Ever think about that?"

No. I hadn't thought about that. But that didn't change the fact that Rick came across those people and didn't say a word about it to us.

"Can you just look at this from my point of view for two seconds?! I have been alone for eight months! Everyone I've met until now has tried to rob me, hurt me, or kill me. Sometimes worse. Yes, Rick let me stay with you, but I was never completely comfortable with it. There was always that voice telling me it was too good to be true, but I told it to shut up because why could you possibly want to hurt me? And then the shitstorm of the last few days came along and I thought I was going to die tied to a fucking pipe! And who do we find barely a mile from the place? I don't know if he blames one of us for letting them take Carl and Judith, but if he does, I'd say that's some pretty good motive."

"Shit, are you listening to yourself?" Daryl advanced on me. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me. I let my hand go to the handle of my gun. "I don't give a shit what happened to you before! I'm tellin' you Rick has nothin' to do with those assholes! He's been out here lookin' for everyone else! You're right, you _don't_ know him, cause if you did you wouldn't be sayin' none of this shit! Ain't my word good enough? You think I'm crazy, too? Huh?" He stepped closer to me, getting right in my face, pulled the stake from his belt and held it at his side. "You think _I'm_ gonna kill you? You think if any of us wanted to kill you we wouldn't 'a done it by now?" He backed me into a tree. I had nowhere to run. "I _saved_ your goddamn life! I coulda let you sleep and get eaten but I dragged your ass back to our house! Show some fuckin' gratitude. And you better think twice before opening your mouth against Rick, or any of them, again." Once he spat those last words at me, he stuck the spike into the bark right beside my head and stormed off back to the shed.

I didn't know what to do or think. Everything he said was right, but only because I'd been made out to be the stupid one. I was trying to protect myself against anything and everything, and that included being skeptical of the good things. I still didn't know why Rick had the ribbon, but I thought I'd never find the truth now, not after what I'd said.

I sunk to the ground and put my face in my hands, trying to make some sense out of everything. I had trusted Daryl-I still did-and I believed what he said about Rick. I understood. I knew how wrong I was. But I couldn't say that to him now. I wasn't about to get up and go back to apologize. I hated apologies, giving _and_ receiving them. They always made me uncomfortable. Maybe I could just sit there for awhile until Daryl cooled down. Until _I_ cooled down. There was no point trying to argue it further.

So I sat there in the shade looking around at the woods, waiting. I wasn't feeling sorry for myself or anything. I liked the peacefulness of the surrounding nature. It had a way of cleansing the mind, like the breeze blew away all the bad thoughts, the sun comforted, the fresh air replenished the energy lost by running and fighting. I would have closed my eyes, but I still had to keep my guard up for walkers. The shed being out here must have meant there was a house nearby. Maybe it was a farm or a ranch. And that meant its inhabitants could be ambling around eating anything that moved. Not even the quiet enjoyment of nature was enough to break me out of survival mode. The state of the world had turned me into a soldier and the war was far from over.

I didn't know how long I'd been sitting out there before the sound of footsteps crunching through the dead leaves alerted me to the fact that I was no longer alone. I looked up to see Rick approaching me. Daryl wasn't with him. He sat down beside me and looked ahead into the trees for a few moments before he spoke.

"I threw the brick through the window 'cause I knew you were sleeping in there and they were coming," he started. "Then I followed them back to your van. They were gonna attack, but I stopped them before they could reach you. Then they had you in the warehouse with the walkers. I killed the three that were there and left the door open for you. I left the ribbons so you knew someone was watching over you." I looked at him, surprised and insanely guilty. "I don't blame you for not trusting me. I'm not Daryl. I understand why you thought what you did. But I need to know now that we can all trust each other because we need to help each other." He looked at me expectantly, awaiting my answer.

"Why did you hide from us?" I asked.

"They had a lock on you, but not on me" he replied. "If I joined you, they woulda taken me too. I couldn't risk it. Not with Carl and Judith still missing."

I nodded slowly. "So you haven't found anything, huh?" I said.

"Not yet," he replied. "But I was able to track the truck to the highway. Lost the trail after that. It can't have gone far."

I nodded again. I had to clear the air, make sure he knew he could trust me and that I wanted to trust him. "My name is Liza Bradick," I said. "I'm twenty-three. Born and raised in San Diego. Lived in LA for awhile before everything started happening. I worked as an EMT. Both my parents and my baby brother got bit. My brother died in my arms. I killed him to keep him from turning. After that I packed a bag and started walking. I walked from California to Georgia by myself. I'm terrified of dying. And of roaches and balloons. Don't know which scares me the most, to be honest. My favorite food was those chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. There was this guy once that made me so nervous I had to have three shots of whiskey before I hung out with him every time. I think you can guess how that ended. I've stopped counting how many people I kill. And after everything, after all the shit I've been through, I'm still so fucking embarrassed that I kissed Daryl that I wanna bury my head in the dirt."

Rick snorted, amused, and shook his head.

"You can trust me," I added. "And I trust you. I will do anything it takes to help you find the others."

Rick nodded.

"Thank you, by the way," I added. "For watching out for us. We'd probably be dead without you."

"You're welcome," he replied with another nod.

The breeze picked up, blowing fallen leaves across the ground. Then it picked up into a strong wind for a few moments before dying own to a breeze again.

"Storm's comin'" Rick commented, looking up at the gathering clouds through the canopy of trees. I looked up as well. A dark mass of clouds had blotted out the sun and the tree branches were swaying in the wind. I wasn't sure how well the shed would shelter us from even a light drizzle, but it was probably our only option. I'd survived through snowstorms when I trekked through Colorado, so a bit of rain was nothing I couldn't handle.

We hurried back to the shed as it started drizzling. Daryl was waiting inside, but I didn't want to go in just yet.

"I'm gonna walk around a bit," I said to Rick, who was holding the door for me. "I like the rain."

"Not by yourself," Rick said.

"Don't be stupid," Daryl added from inside.

"I'll be fine," I insisted. "I can handle myself." Maybe it was just the wind but I could have sworn I heard an incredulous snort come from inside the shed.

Rick nodded his approval and went inside, closing the door behind him. I was glad he didn't tell me to be careful or hurry back. It meant that he trusted my resilience. He knew I'd be okay because I'd _been_ okay for eight months alone.

The rain was getting heavier, but I was still mostly protected by the cover of the trees as I made my way through the woods. I enjoyed the way the sound of the rain mixed with the rustling of the leaves so I couldn't tell the two apart. It drowned out all the other noises, so I had to keep my eyes peeled for walkers since I would barely be able to hear them coming.

I walked and walked until I figured I'd gone far enough. I kept my path in a mostly straight line so it would be easy to find my way back. I stopped walking at a point where the trees were starting to thin and the rain was mostly unobstructed by foliage. Within minutes, my hair was completely soaked, as was the rest of me. I let it drench me and wash away all the dirt and sweat that had accumulated over the last few days. It even washed away some of the blood that encrusted my clothes. I wasn't cold. The air was warm and the rain was cool, a perfect balance. I was comfortable.

A sudden gust of wind nearly knocked me off my feet. Then came another and another. It was getting worse. It looked like it was raining sideways. It was starting to become harder to see as I had to squint and shield my eyes against the elements.

The heavy rain turned into a torrential downpour, complete with harsh winds. Then there was the booming crash of thunder and a bright flash of lightning. I was in no hurry to get back to the shed because it probably wasn't helping much as far as shelter went, but I wanted to get back to Rick and Daryl in case a branch decided to let loose and fall on top of me. No one would hear me calling for help out here.

So I started my hike back the way I came, but moved at a much slower pace because of the mud and the water flying sideways into my face. And regardless of how thick the canopy above me became, the rain wouldn't be stopped. It hit me just as hard further into the woods as it had at the edge.

After a good while of retracing my steps, I was starting to think I should have reached the shed already. I had gone back the exact same way I came, but something was off. There were roots and trees I didn't recognize, bushes that weren't there before. I was off the right path and I didn't know how far.

I thought I heard something in the distance like a voice, but it could have just been the wind whistling through the trees. It was eerie. Everything was grey and green and I couldn't see more than five feet in front of me.

I heard the sound again, louder this time. It was definitely a voice. It was calling out. The third time I could clearly tell it was Daryl calling my name. I called back to him, trying to follow his voice, but the sound of the rain and the wind and my own footsteps splashing through the mud made it difficult to know where he was.

Something grabbed my shoulder. I ripped my gun from my belt as I twisted around, expecting to see a walker trying to have a snack, but I stopped myself just before I could raise the barrel to Daryl's forehead.

"You tryin' to get yourself killed out here?" he shouted over the din of the storm.

"I got lost!" I returned, tucking the gun away again. "I'm sorry!" There. I'd said it. It sounded like I was apologizing for making him look for me, but really it was for everything. I didn't care how he took it, I just wanted to say it.

"Come on!" he yelled, leading me back toward the shed.

I was leaning most of my body weight against the wind now. I'd never been in such a bad storm before. It must have been the start of a hurricane.

I was taking care to lift my feet high to avoid dragging them through the mud, but one step wasn't big enough and my foot caught on a root, sending me straight forward into Daryl. Luckily I managed a good grip on his arm to keep myself from falling. The moment he turned around, he saw something behind me and yanked me forward a few steps and covered me against a tree. All I needed to hear was the snapping of wood to know either a large branch or a small tree had fallen and I'd just been pulled out of its way. Daryl had his arms around me, but it was more protective than anything else. He was putting himself between me and danger.

"Are you okay?" I shouted, barely able to hear myself above the wind. I was afraid the branch had hit him instead, but he seemed unscathed.

"Yeah!" he replied. "We gotta hurry!"

He started leading the way back to the shed again, but just as before, I knew we were going the wrong way.

"Do you know where we're going?" I asked.

"Not really!"

"Where's Rick?"

"In the shed!"

"I'm guessing you're lost, too!"

"No thanks to you!" The hint of humor in his voice told me he wasn't angry with me anymore, at least not for now.

I was growing tired of fighting the storm, walking against the wind, nearly screaming to make myself heard. I grabbed Daryl's arm to stop him and turn him around to face me.

"Stop for a sec!" I shouted. The wind wasn't taking a single direction anymore. It was swirling around us, sending rain whipping around from every angle. I was probably cleaner now than after every shower I'd ever taken. "I'm sorry for what I said!"

"Don't worry about it!" he replied.

"I should have trusted you!" I insisted.

"I said don't worry about it!" Rick must have talked to him, made him see my side. I was grateful for Rick's apparent way with words.

There was the faintest hint of a growl a few feet away that caught our attention. We looked to see a walker stumbling past us and making an effort to go our way but the wind was pushing it too hard so it just strutted right by. It was a hysterical sight and I couldn't help the laughter that escaped me. I looked back at Daryl to see he was laughing, too. I'd barely even seen him smile until now. I wanted to kiss him again. I'd always wanted to kiss someone in the rain like a stupidly hopeless romantic, but I resisted. I didn't want to test his resolve in his forgiveness. I knew I was probably still on thin ice and I wasn't about to break through again.

"I think we're stuck until the storm lets up!" he said.

"I guess so!" I agreed and sat down on a thick root beside a massive tree trunk. Daryl sat down beside me.

The storm continued to swirl around us for several minutes before something big and heavy came barreling through the trees in our direction. It was a chunk of the roofing of the shed. Daryl and I exchanged a worried glance before taking off in the direction it had come from. We had to make sure Rick was okay.


	11. Disbelief

There was nothing left except a slightly flattened spot of dirt where the shed had stood. There was no wood, no windows or shattered glass, and no Rick. The wind had torn the thing to pieces and scattered them among the trees that were now only brown and green blurs in the tempest. The water was starting to sting my face. I wanted to be dry, to be wrapped up in a warm blanket by a fire. Such an idea seemed like a fairy tale now and with the way the weather was behaving, I figured such a dream come true was a long way away.

"Rick!" Daryl called into the howling wind. "Rick!" I could barely hear him and I was standing right beside him.

"GODDAMMIT!" I screamed at nothing. The effort burned my throat, but the rage had returned and I'd had enough. As if humans weren't bad enough, dead or alive, the damn environment had to turn its back on us, too. When would it finally end? When would things be simple again?

Ignoring Daryl's raised eyebrows, I stomped off down a path I was only imagining in my mind. It was more roots and mud than anything we could possibly follow in one direction for more than a few feet, but it was better than standing around wondering how a massively destructive storm had torn up a shabby little pile of wood and nails in the middle of nowhere.

_Stop!_ my thoughts shouted at the rain. _Just stop! For one minute!_ I figured if I were to actually start scolding nature, I wouldn't make myself look very sane.

So instead I stopped and turned back to Daryl, who'd been following closely. "We just found him!" I exclaimed. "We _just_ found him and now he's gone again! What the fuck!"

"We'll find him again," Daryl tried to reassure me, but his words fell on the deaf ears of a girl on a rampage.

"What makes you so sure, Mister Frowns-All-The-Time? Can you see the future now? Can you tell me for sure that he isn't being devoured by walkers right now? And what about everyone else? Are they a-okay? Are we gonna find them, too? Are we ever gonna be able to sleep without one eye open again?" I'd started shrieking by the end of my rant without realizing it. Anyone else who gave a shit would probably have held me close to comfort me and calm me down, but Daryl just stood there with a look of subtle sympathy and a hint of impatience that I had an urge to smack off his face.

"Screamin' about it ain't gonna help," he said. "We're all askin' that same question but there ain't gonna be an answer till it happens. We're gonna find Rick and we're gonna find the others and everyone else can go fuck themselves for all I care."

"I'm sorry," I said after a deep breath. "You're right." Another apology. I'd never apologized to anyone else as much as I did to Daryl. Maybe he was the only one who deserved it.

The wind refused to let up, even after two hours of stumbling through the woods and calling out to Rick. At this point, I assumed he was looking for us too and we were just circling each other, but stopping and waiting for him to find us would just waste time when the others were still out there. I hoped Rick would give up looking for us and continue his search for everyone else. He was probably closer to the edge of the woods, anyway. Daryl and I seemed to have gone deeper into the forest, as the trees were billowing just as hard, but there was a thicker shelter from the rain above us.

I slowed to a stop and stared at the muddy ground. Daryl noticed and turned back to me.

"I can't," I mumbled. I didn't care if he heard me or not. I needed to stop. My legs were about to give out, and so were my lungs, exhausted from screaming.

"'Sa matter?" Daryl said, stepping back towards me. I just shook my head, keeping my blurred vision focused on the ground. I didn't know if my eyes were swimming with tears or rainwater, but blinking didn't clear them. I was still breathing hard from the exertion of climbing over every other uprooted tree and boulder in our path. My clothes were soaked through to my skin, making everything heavier. It was so tempting to give up and just lie down on the ground to wait for the next hungry walker.

"Hey," Daryl grunted. "We gotta keep movin'."

I stood there stubbornly for a few moments, breathing in and out, glaring at nothing. Then something else took over and I found myself marching hard through the trees, gun gripped tightly in my hand.

I marched and marched, stomping through every thicket of branches that stood in my way. I didn't have a destination in mind. All I knew was that my legs were leading me in a straight line out of the woods.

After another half hour at that brisk pace with Daryl following along quietly, we broke free of the trees. We found ourselves in the middle of another long, winding highway lined end to end with green. Rain was still pouring from the sky, but the wind had let up. I stood on the yellow line dividing the street and looked to my left, then to my right. In both directions, the road disappeared around a bend. I decided to turn left and continued marching down the road. If Daryl had said anything, I paid him no attention.

About a mile down, there were a few small structures that looked like they used to be a general store and a bait shop. The general store had a second floor that looked like it might be a residence. Without so much as a glance at Daryl, I walked right in through the front door, which somehow was still fully attached to its hinges.

I caught the attention of a small group of walkers ambling about inside and unloaded a round into the head of each one. Four bullets left.

"Liza!" Daryl whispered loudly at me. He was probably gonna scold me about the noise, but I tuned him out.

There was a doorway behind the counter that led to a staircase. Each stepped creaked with my weight, but there didn't seem to be any more walkers upstairs. Still, I kept the gun raised and ready.

The hallway was short, with one doorway leading to an office and a second leading to a cozy living room. Once inside, I shut the door behind Daryl and listened to the silence. There were no dragging footsteps. No growls. Only the rain against the roof and windows, both of which were fully intact. I locked the deadbolt on the door and stepped further into the room.

I stood there between the couch and the coffee table, shaking. Every inch of me shook. I was cold and tired and simply unable to believe this place-this tiny little apartment-existed. I let the gun slip from my fingers and drop to the floor. I tried to relax my shoulders, but they were stuck with tension. I noticed the carpet was dry and I suddenly felt the need to remove my shoes before I got mud all over it. Behind me, I heard Daryl shrugging out of his vest and jacket.

"I'm gonna find a bathroom," I whispered so quietly I almost couldn't hear myself, and trudged away to the little hallway opposite the couch.

The bathroom wasn't that hard to find. It was the first door I tried. I locked myself in and looked around, keeping my back against the door. The tiny white room was barely big enough to fit a shower, a sink, and a toilet. I could see a tiny, frosted glass window inside the shower, with a few colorful bottles lining the sill. The counter was bare and there were no shelves on the wall. Whoever lived here had packed up and left a long time ago.

With trembling fingers, I unbuttoned my jacket and peeled it off my shoulders and arms, letting it splat into a pile on the floor. My boots and socks were next. Then my shirt and my jeans. My hair was dripping water down my back, so I untangled it from my hair tie and wrung it out over the sink. There was a small hamper in the corner with a few towels tossed inside. I pulled one out. It smelled musty, but looked clean enough. I dried myself off and squeezed it around my hair a few times.

I thought I heard a strange hissing sound coming from the living room. It was interrupted briefly, then continued. It was a sound I knew, but I couldn't place it.

Then I heard footsteps and a heavy knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, you got water in there?" Daryl called through the door.

"What?" I replied.

"Water!" he said. "The kitchen has water!"

I didn't respond. I looked down at the faucet which probably hadn't been used in months. No. Not possible.

"I don't think so," I said. "There's no way."

"Try it, idiot!"

I didn't know what the point was, but I turned the knob on the faucet. It sputtered a few times, and then a steady stream of cloudy water came pouring out. As it ran, it became clearer. I held my hand under it. It was cold, but it was definitely there. I wasn't imagining it. Quickly, I turned off the sink. Maybe the place had its own water tank. I didn't want to waste it.

"Yeah! There's water!" I croaked. I looked at the shower. I could take an actual shower. I didn't care if I'd freeze to death in the process, I was getting clean.

I stripped off my underwear and opened the shower door. It looked useable. I turned the red knob only because it was closer, not because I was expecting any temperature other than icy. As the water sputtered to life, I stepped back to grab the towel and hung it over the handle on the door, then stepped in and shut the door behind me.

I nearly jumped at what I felt. Instead of water as cold as the rain outside, a stream of warmth met my skin. After a few moments, it became completely hot and steam started to cloud up the shower door and the little window. I turned around, letting it envelop every bit of me. I stood with my back to the shower head, letting the water rinse through my hair and down my back. I looked down to see a brown puddle at my feet. I was filthy.

The bottles on the window sill were all dried up and moldy. There was nothing useful left. But the hot water alone was enough. I found myself smiling. Actually smiling. There was a sudden painful warmth in my cheeks, and then I was crying. I sunk to the floor and sobbed like a little child. This was something I used to have access to every single day. It was a routine part of life. People didn't even think twice about its necessity. It was basic hygiene. But then people started dying and the dead started walking and there was widespread panic and no one left to regulate water and power, so everything just dried up. This was the first time I'd had a shower in nearly a year. I'd had the occasional wipe down when I found a clear stream or lake, but nothing like this. Not a small space filled with steam, washing the last eight months away.

I sat under the water, crying until there were no more tears in me and the water had gone tepid. When I finally turned it off, it was almost dark out. I hadn't even tried turning on the light, so I stepped out of the shower and groped around for my towel. I wrapped it around myself and wrung out my hair over the sink again before tying it back up on top of my head.

My clothes were still damp, so I laid them out on the counter to dry. I tried the light switch, but just as I'd expected, there was no electricity. I unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. Maybe the previous tenant had left some clothes behind. I crossed the hall into the bedroom to find Daryl already rummaging through the closet.

"The shower works," I rasped. My voice was hoarse from yelling. Daryl straightened up and looked at me.

"Bout time you came outta there," he said.

"Sorry," I replied. "Water should be hot again soon."

"Hot water?" he echoed. "There's hot water?"

"Yeah," I said with a laugh.

Daryl turned back to the closet, grabbed a handful of what could only be rags, and pushed right past me to the bathroom.

I went to the closet to see if there was anything salvageable I could wear. There was a pile of old ratty clothes on the floor and some faded boxes on the shelves. I dug through the clothes and pulled out a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were no doubt too loose for me. I pulled on my new outfit, relishing the feeling of clean cloth against clean skin. I felt refreshed. I had to tie the drawstring of the sweatpants to keep them from falling, but they were comfortable enough.

I went back out to the living room and collapsed onto the couch. My back ached, my throat was sore, my legs were throbbing, but I was comfortable for the first time in a long while. I knew it wouldn't last long, of course. We would have to set out again if there was any hope of finding Rick and the others. But at least for the night, I was okay.

I hadn't realized it until now, but I hadn't eaten since the sporting goods store, and that wasn't even really a meal. It felt like there was a big gaping hole in my stomach that could never be filled.

I started to doze off after a while, only to be woken up by something light hitting me in the face.

"Eat," Daryl said through a mouthful of whatever he was chewing. He sat down on the floor and leaned back against the couch. I had to rub my eyes to wake myself back up, and when I looked down and saw what had hit me, my mouth watered instantly. Daryl had tossed me a handful of smoked jerky for dinner.

"Where'd you find this?" I asked, tearing off a piece with my teeth. It was delicious.

"Kitchen," Daryl replied. "That's the last of it."

I rested my head back on the cushions, chewing and savoring the sweet barbecue taste.

"Don't go all Rambo again, alright?" he added. "You got lucky today, there only bein' walkers here."

"I was mad," I replied. Truthfully, I'd given all control to my anger.

"Don't mean you should risk your life cause of it."

"Daryl, every time I take a step I'm risking my life. And so are you. Just being alive is dangerous."

"Just be more careful's all I'm sayin'."

"Mhm," I mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. I just laid there, breathing in and out slowly, calmly. With every moment that passed, I expected someone, living or dead, to knock the door down and attack. But the intrusion never came. I didn't know how safe we could really be in a place anyone would envy, but I wasn't about to let it go to waste.

"I think we should defend this place properly," I said after a long while of thinking. It amazed me how Daryl had the ability to just sit there quietly for that long. "It's small, but we could live here after we find the others. We could use that office as another bedroom and the windows give us a nice vantage point."

"We don't know where they are," he replied. "No point in settling down if the people we're lookin' for are three states away."

He had a point. Perfect as this place was for two people here and now, we couldn't expect to make it our home if the others were far away. They were our first and only priority. It made me sad to think of this place being empty and unused again, but the people that took Rick's family were gonna pay dearly for what they did and I wasn't gonna let comfort stop that from happening.


	12. Aggression

I woke up to my own shivering. Dawn was barely beginning to break so I couldn't see past the white whisps of my own breath in the chilled air. I was still curled up on the couch. Sometime in the night I must have brought my knees up to my chest to conserve my body heat. Daryl was horizontal on the floor against the sofa. I hoped I hadn't kneed him in the head and pushed him down. The thin t-shirt and sweatpants I had on were nowhere near warm enough to calm my shaking.

I picked up my flashlight, peeled myself from the sofa and stood, my entire body tense with muscles trying to warm themselves. I stepped carefully through the darkness to the window overlooking the street below. The rain had let up a bit, but the wind was still blowing it sideways. A single walker ambled along. We'd be okay for now.

My clothes that I'd laid out in the bathroom had dried. I shone my light at the shower, debating whether or not I should stand under hot water for awhile. I decided against it. We needed to pack up and go. I changed quickly back into my own clothes. The fabric was freezing against my skin, but it warmed up after a minute or two. The extra layers helped, as well.

The kitchen didn't have much to offer. A few more strips of jerky and tap water could hardly be considered breakfast, but it was better than nothing. I found a few old plastic bottles and jars that we could use to carry water. I rinsed them out, savoring the warm water over my hands. I figured there had to be something useful as weapons here somewhere. Knives, primarily. Unless they'd already been swiped by someone else. I looked around, not wanting to remove my hands from the water. There was a knife block on the counter, but all the slots were empty. Maybe one of the drawers still held some pointy things.

I finally removed my hand from the warm stream and turned off the hot tap so that only cold came out. After I filled up five nicely sized reusable bottles, I turned off the tap and started rummaging. The drawers had mostly useless objects. I dug through the potato peelers and garlic crushers and serving spoons in search of anything good for stabbing. I shoved my hand to the back of the drawer and nicked my finger on something. I grabbed it and pulled it out. It was a two-pronged fork the length of my forearm. And the points were still relatively sharp, though I wasn't bleeding where it scratched me. There was also a long, narrow cheese grater with a handle. We could sharpen the edges and use that as well.

I nudged Daryl with my boot to wake him up. He stirred, rubbed his eyes, then sat bolt upright, a look of panic crossing his otherwise placid features.

"Relax," I said. "Nothing happened." True, it probably hadn't been the best idea for both of us to sleep at the same time without a lookout, but the place was secure enough to afford us the luxury just once.

"How long I been out?" he asked, rubbing his face in both hands.

"Dunno," I replied. "Not long. It's still dark out."

Daryl exhaled, apparently frustrated by something. "We gotta move," he grunted as he got to his feet.

"I filled some water bottles," I said. "And our clothes are dry now."

Without acknowledging the slightly good news, Daryl shuffled over to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Meanwhile, I went back to the window to watch the lone walker. It had changed direction and picked up a bit of speed. It was now stumbling toward the trees across the street. Maybe an unsuspecting animal of some sort had caught its attention. No sooner had it passed the trees along the edge than its entire body whipped backwards and fell to the ground, half its head missing. Someone was in the trees. I ducked below the window, my back to the wall, and scanned the room for my gun. I spotted it on the floor beneath the coffee table where I'd dropped it when we first arrived. I scrambled across the small space, grabbed it, and crawled quickly back to the window, peeking one eye over the windowsill. There was no sign of movement among the trees. The walker lay motionless right where it had fallen. I kept my eyes glued to the shadows where the walker had entered the woods, waiting for a sign of life.

"What is it?" Daryl's whisper startled me. I turned around to see him standing in the doorway, keeping himself out of sight of the window. He'd changed back into his own clothes as well.

"There's someone out there," I whispered back, fixing my gaze on the trees again.

"How many?" Daryl crept silently towards me and pressed his back to the wall beside the window.

"I don't know," I replied. "I didn't see them."

He peeked around the window frame, his eyes falling on the dead walker. "They do that?" he asked, nodding at the treeline.

"Yeah," I said. "But they're still in there."

We watched in silence for a few moments, barely daring to breathe. Then, finally, a low branch moved, as if being pushed out of the way by someone behind it. It was still too dark to make out any faces, but someone was definitely there, just out of sight.

Slowly, quietly, Daryl turned and reached for the window pane. He pushed it up inch by inch, trying to avoid making noise. The icy chill hit me instantly, causing my hair to stand on end. Once he'd opened the window completely, Daryl flattened himself against the wall beside it again and looked down at the gun gripped tightly in my hand. I knew what he was thinking.

I peered back down at the trees once more, expecting there to be no one, but there was indeed a man visible just on the other side of the walker he'd hit. I would have missed him if I didn't know where to look. His dark clothes blended in perfectly with the shadows and the rain. He just stood there for a moment, looking around tentatively. I didn't dare move a muscle.

"I see him," I said to Daryl, my voice hardly audible even to myself, though the storm outside would have easily drowned me out before the man below could hear. Daryl peeked around the frame again. His brow furrowed.

"Shoot him, Liza," he said quickly. "Now."

"Do you know him?" I asked, wondering whether he really was a threat.

"He was at the store," Daryl replied. "With the group that attacked us."

My heart started pounding deafeningly loud in my ears. My grip on the gun became shaky, but I raised it anyway. I backed away from the window a bit, allowing myself room to straighten my arm to aim without getting the gun wet.

"Now!" Daryl hissed though gritted teeth.

"What if there are others?" I snapped.

"Shoot them too!"

My finger tightened around the trigger, but not enough to shoot. That was a living, breathing person. I hated him, and I wanted him dead, but I couldn't do it myself. I willed my finger to pull harder on the trigger, but it wouldn't move. The man below stepped into the street, heading straight for the front door of the general store downstairs.

"Liza!" Daryl whispered. I gripped my left hand around the gun as well to steady my shaking, following the man with the barrel. I had good aim. I could easily hit him, but something was stopping me and it made me angry.

Before I knew what was happening, Daryl had ripped the gun from my hands, pushed me aside, and fired one shot into the rain. The man collapsed, dead. The bang from the bullet echoed in my head, louder than the wind. Daryl kept the gun trained on the trees, awaiting any other threats that might come stumbling, crawling, or running out.

I was on the floor, breathing hard, my heart somehow beating even faster. I was gonna be sick. My insides felt rotten and stale. I stared at a spot in the carpet, trying to calm myself down.

The sudden slam of the window sliding shut snapped me out of my panicked trance. I felt Daryl crouch down beside me.

"Hey!" he said sharply, shoving me into the wall by my shoulder. "Next time it's on you." He dropped the gun in my lap and straightened back up.

"Was he alone?" I croaked, staying in my spot on the floor.

"Yeah, he was alone," Daryl said, glaring out the window. "Don't expect such luck next time."

"I could have done it," I said, still shaking. "I was about to shoot."

"No you weren't," he said bitterly. "You woulda let him walk right in here."

"Don't tell me what I would have done!" I snapped, pushing myself to my feet. "You don't know what I was thinking!"

"You weren't thinkin', that's the point!" he returned, his voice getting harsher with each word.

"You keep this, then!" I thrust the gun out to him. "I don't want it!"

Daryl didn't even look at it. "How you gonna survive if you don't learn?"

"I don't want it!" I repeated, stepping toward him, gun still raised.

"You need to learn, Liza!"

"Take the fucking gun, Daryl!" I shoved it sideways into his chest and let it go. He caught it before it fell too far.

"Why didn't you shoot?" he barked. "There was nothin' stoppin' you!"

"I don't know!" I shot back. "I just didn't!"

"What if you were alone, huh?" he continued. "What if I wasn't here to save your ass?"

"Well, maybe I'd be dead, Daryl! Maybe I would have let him in here and just kill me because I don't know how to take care of myself! I've only been alone for a year fighting everything to stay alive! What do I know about survival?!"

_"You didn't take the shot!"_ Daryl insisted. "He was _right there!"_

"I couldn't do it!" I shrieked. "I couldn't kill him! I didn't know if he was gonna try to hurt me or not!"

"He did try, Liza! I saw him comin' after us with a hammer! He woulda killed us the second he got the chance!"

"Well, he didn't, thanks to you."

"Fuck does that mean?" Daryl said, his voice becoming eerily steady. "You upset I killed him?"

"No, I'm not stupid!"

"You do a damn good impression of it!"

"Fuck you, too!" I bit, stepping back to the window and wrenching it open.

"And where's your damn gratitude, huh?" he barked, following me.

"Gratitude for what?" I retorted. "Scolding me like a child?"

"If you're gonna act like one," he said hotly.

I turned on him, steaming. "If _you're_ so ready to murder, why didn't _you_ just do it in the first place?" I shouted, shoving him twice for extra emphasis.

"It ain't murder, it's self defense!" he shouted back, swatting my hands away.

"Well, I'm _glad_ it's so easy for you!" I yelled, shoving him hard into the wall.

He smacked my hands away again. "_You're_ gonna get us both killed!"

I shoved him again, this time keeping one hand on his arm, pinning him to the wall, and gripping the underside of his chin with the other, the heel of my hand pressing against his throat.

"Not if I kill you first," I spat, surprised at my own words. My face was dangerously close to his. He could easily knock me out with a headbutt.

"Yeah?" he taunted. "Go ahead."

My insides were on fire, burning right through my skin, and a part of me was _enjoying_ it. Something in me made me want to dig my nails into him, but not out of hatred, though violence was the only thing I currently had any capacity for.

"You think you're some hero?" I sneered, forcing his head harder into the wall. "You think you know more about staying alive than I do?"

"I _know_ I do," he replied, fighting against my hand on his throat, but not hard enough to push me off.

I tightened my grip, standing up on my toes to bring my face closer to his. "You don't know _anything_," I said. "You've had your little group protecting you. I walked _across the country_ without so much as a _scratch_."

"You want a medal for your accomplishments, princess?"

I tightened my grip even further, my fingertips pressing hard against the skin of his arm and his face. I felt something cold and hard against the underside of my chin. He was still holding the gun in his free hand.

"You gonna shoot me too, Superman?" I couldn't believe the words coming out of me. Nothing was there to stop him from pulling the trigger. This could very well be the stupidest thing I ever said in my life. But he didn't shoot. He didn't do anything. We just stood there, pressed against each other in the heat of our anger, neither one of us moving an inch. I thought for a moment about closing the gap between our faces. It was such a small gap. It would be so much easier than stepping back and letting him go. The fire was still racing through me, but I could no longer tell if it was purely anger or something else. I'd kissed him before, but those were the stupid actions of a stupid girl, actions of which I was still thoroughly embarrassed, considering how it had turned out.

He just stared at me, waiting for my next move. It almost looked like he was daring me to go one way or the other, causing me even more frustration. I felt the cold barrel of the gun leave my skin. He relaxed into the wall, no longer pushing back against me. I didn't know if he was surrendering or just done. I kept my hands where they were, but loosened my grip a bit. My muscles were starting to cramp. But I didn't step back. I could feel the scowl fading from my face. I was unsure of what to do now. There was a rumble of thunder in the distance. The wind was still blowing hard through the window. I hadn't even realized that it was bringing the rain in with it. We'd been shouting rather loudly, no doubt attracting the attention of a few walkers. I worried that someone living had heard us, too. Someone who knew the man I was supposed to kill. Someone definitely would have heard the gunshot. There was no way that man had suddenly been alone after traveling with a group that clearly knew how to take care of themselves, even though some of them didn't defend themselves very well. The rest of them were probably in the trees, waiting to attack again.

"What do you want, Liza?" Daryl said quietly, distracting me from my strayed thoughts. I didn't know how to answer him. He'd caught on to the reason why I didn't move away, that much was clear. It was probably written all over my face. I finally let go and lowered my hands, though I stayed rooted to the spot.

"I don't know," I breathed, dropping my eyes from his face where I'd left red marks. He moved forward the tiniest bit, away from the wall and closer to me. I kept my gaze down. He had plenty of room to step around me, but he didn't, and I couldn't help wondering why.

I put my hands on his sides and ran them up to his chest, pushing him back to the wall, gently this time. I didn't want to look at him, so I kept my eyes down and leaned into him, my forehead resting on his shoulder, and just stood there. The exhaustion of the last eight months pressed down on my shoulders, a constant reminder of how far away happiness and comfort were. I felt heavy on my feet, the muscles in my neck giving in to the weight of everything. I didn't know if I was welcome here, this close to him. I didn't care if I was invading. I was warm.

I felt his hands on my arms. His skin was hot. They ran along my forearms to my wrists, where they enclosed my hands against him. I could feel his face beside mine, his breath on my ear. It was slow and steady, like he was in complete control of himself. I envied that. He was stronger than I was, regardless of what I'd said to him just minutes ago.

Thunder rumbled through the sky again, closer this time, louder. I wished the window would shut itself so I could stay right where I was. The cold nicked my skin, but it had no effect on me. A wave of something came over me, the same feeling that had caused me to cry myself empty in the shower. I moved my hands up, winding my arms around his neck, and buried my face completely in his shoulder. I had to squeeze tight and hold my breath to keep that familiar emotion from getting the better of me. I felt his arms wrap around my waist slowly, like they were treading on dangerous ground.

I knew then what that feeling was. It was relief, comfort, a moment to breathe without the danger of death. It was a tiny bit of happiness. I had cried before because I thought I didn't deserve it, not with the despair that had washed over the world. I didn't deserve it now, either. But I savored it while I could. I reveled in it, for it would soon be ripped away again. That much was inevitable.

Thunder crashed deafeningly right outside the window, accompanied by a blinding flash of lightning. The noise went on for a good minute. I wondered what it must be doing to the walkers. Would it scatter them? Or would they all stay in one spot, biting at the sky?

I released Daryl from my suffocating grip and stepped away. I was suddenly cold again, but it wasn't going to get any better as long as the window was open. I moved quietly to it to slide the pane down, but what I saw outside in the dawning sunlight made my heart stop.

There was a mob of walkers, maybe thirty or forty of them, congregated around the street and sidewalk directly below. But they were silent. I squinted through the rain and realized why. Their throats had been ripped out. Every one of them. They couldn't growl. They probably couldn't even eat, but they were still hunting. They all seemed to be gathered around a single spot, but it was hard to tell what it was because it was on the ground beneath them.

Daryl must have noticed my terror, as he was suddenly by my side, peering out the window.

"There's a fire," he said quietly. Sure enough, as the walkers moved around, I could see an orange light flickering on the sidewalk right outside the front door. That was no lightning fire. It wouldn't have struck that spot with so many tall trees around. Someone had lit it with the intention of drawing the walkers to our door. And they had taken the time to silence them.

I couldn't move. I was afraid I'd be seen, even though I was leaning halfway out the window. Daryl grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back inside, sliding the window shut.

"The roof," he said, tucking the gun into his belt and picking up the two-pronged fork I'd left on the kitchen counter. "There's a fire escape."

He made for the door, picking up the stake he'd left beside it and holding it out to me. I took it gratefully, glad it wasn't a firearm. Daryl was right. I would have to learn sooner or later. It was the only way we'd make it out of this alive. And we still had to find Rick and the others. I couldn't continue being weak or afraid of the living.

I followed Daryl out of the apartment and across the landing at the top of the stairs. I heard some shuffling in the store below. Maybe some of the walkers had broken through the door.

There was another small staircase, just wide enough to fit one person, leading up to a door. Daryl went up first. He tried the knob, but it was locked. Bracing himself against the walls on either side of him, he leaned back and knocked the door from its hinges with a swift kick of his boot. I ran up the stairs after him and out onto the roof.

There were puddles everywhere, ankle deep. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing caved in on itself. I scanned the edge, looking for a railing that would indicate the top of the fire escape.

"There!" Daryl said over the rain, which had picked up again and was once more falling in buckets. Along the side of the building there were two metal rails that disappeared over the edge, probably leading to the top of a ladder. But as we approached it, I noticed that the ground below seemed to be moving. A flash of lightning illuminated the alley at the bottom of the ladder. It wasn't the ground moving. It was a sea of walkers, packed like sardines into the small space between the buildings. These, too, had been silenced.

I heard Daryl curse quite creatively at the sight. I looked around again for any other railings or accesses to neighboring roofs, but there was nothing. The ground below us was slowly filling with walkers and I could see no way out.


	13. Resolve

Panic was rising through me again, engulfing every thought. I felt like I'd hit a wall and there was no way over it. This couldn't be the end. I'd always gotten out of bad situations before. Tomorrow I'd be resting in another somewhat secure place with Daryl keeping watch. Tomorrow would happen. I was sure of it. I just had to figure out how to get there.

I stood still for a moment, trying to organize my thoughts and calm my breathing as the rain soaked through every inch of my clothes once more. Every one of those walkers belonged to someone. This was a living person's plot, which meant they had to be nearby somewhere, watching, ensuring everything went as planned. I stepped closer to the edge of the roof facing the street and looked down. It was a sizable mob, but not the biggest I'd ever encountered. Of course, I hadn't been surrounded with no way out before, but this mob was relatively manageable, given that we'd come up with our own plan.

_If these were my walkers,_ I thought, _where would I hide to watch?_ I scanned the treeline. It was dark and humanless. The street below held only walkers as far as I could see before it disappeared around a bend in both directions. _Where are you?_

A different sort of motion caught my eye. Most of the movement surrounding us was uniform, all arms and jaws reaching upward and toward our building. But somewhere along the trees in the corner of my eye, something had moved the opposite way. I kept my head down but moved my eyes toward the spot, careful to look like I hadn't noticed anything peculiar. I wouldn't want to tip them off.

"Keep your eyes on the walkers," I said quietly to Daryl as my gaze fell upon a single man creeping in and out of the trees in search of a better vantage point through the storm.

"Why?" Daryl replied, keeping his head down. I didn't answer. My mind was racing with different ideas of what to do, but none of them seemed sufficient. Not when there was no way for me to get to the stranger.

Then something dawned on me, a single useless observation about my life before that had never meant much and was just sitting patiently at the back of my mind. I had never treated a conscious gunshot victim who wasn't screaming. Movies always made it seem bearable, like walking and speaking in clear english were still possible with a bullet lodged in your stomach. But I knew better. That man, failing terribly to hide from his stranded victims, was living, breathing bait.

I stepped closer to Daryl slowly, stretching my arm out just a few inches from my side.

"Give me the gun," I said. Daryl reached around behind him to grab it. "Slowly," I added.

He pulled the gun from his belt and held it down at his side for me to take.

"There ain't enough bullets," he said.

"I only need one," I replied, slipping my fingers around the handle and tucking the stake into my belt.

"What for?"

_I'm gonna make him scream,_ I thought, but I kept that to myself. I didn't need Daryl doubting my abilities. Besides, I wasn't shooting to kill this time. Not directly, anyway. I was sure I could handle it.

I lifted my head just a bit, enough to give me a clearer view of my intended target, but not enough to let him know I'd seen him. He probably thought we were too preoccupied with our current situation to notice him.

I gripped the gun in my right hand and pulled back the hammer. At first, I aimed it down at the walkers. He would think I was growing desperate, hoping to shoot all the walkers with one round. I turned my body slowly toward him, steadying my right hand with my left. I always aimed better with both hands. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and clearing my mind lest I change it at the last second. Then, without another thought, I raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

The initial _bang_ of the shot turned all the stragglers along the edge of the mob towards the building, but not a moment later, the man across the street was on the ground, screaming in agony. I'd hit my target, right in the thigh, rendering him incapable of dragging himself away and causing enough blood loss to distract the majority of the walkers. Just as I'd hoped, they started ambling towards their new meal. The walkers closest to the building and half of the ones in the alley remained where they were.

"Kill me!" the man below screamed. "Please, before they get me! Kill me!" Who was he talking to? It couldn't have been directed at us. He was looking into the trees, trying desperately to pull himself along the ground with his arms, but the pain made him too weak. He kept screaming, gripping his leg. Then another gunshot rang through the air. It had come from someone hidden in the woods. The man had been shot dead just as the walkers encircled him. A few of them started digging their rotten teeth into him as the rest followed the new noise into the trees, this time followed by more of the ones in the alley and along the building. There were panicked shouts from several people in the woods. I swore I heard one voice say, "Why'd you do that?"

I looked at Daryl. He was staring at the scene below in disbelief.

"Let's go before they come back," I said, pulling him away from the edge of the roof. He followed me without protest, but the sight of black smoke seeping through the doorway back down into the building stopped us in our tracks. Something inside was burning. Daryl ran over to get a look down the stairs, shielding his face with his shirt. He saw something below that made him square his shoulders, two-pronged fork gripped tightly in his hand. A dim orange light was cast over him momentarily, then a walker, engulfed entirely in flames, emerged from the doorway, flailing its hungry arms at Daryl. It must have walked through the fire on the sidewalk and managed to break in. Daryl stepped quickly away from it, trying to find an opportunity to get at its head without getting burned. I figured he would have to wait for the steady rain to extinguish it, but I didn't know how long that would take. The flames were massive. I considered shooting it from where I was, but it would attract more walkers-probably also burning-and we'd be left with a single bullet. I had to save what ammo we had left. I tucked the gun into my belt and pulled the stake back out.

Another walker stepped out onto the roof. The flames on this one were much smaller, like they had just been lit a moment ago. I ran at it and plunged the stake into its skull, careful to avoid the small fire it carried with it. It fell into one of the puddles, the water splashing over the flames and dousing them.

Daryl was still circling around the roof, the walker close in tow before him. Neither of our weapons were long enough to take it out without setting ourselves alight as well. The smoke billowing out of the doorway was becoming thicker. If we didn't find a way off this roof soon we'd burn anyway.

I watched as Daryl backed right to the edge of the roof. My heart skipped a beat as I thought he'd go right over the side, but he seemed to know exactly where to stop.

"Come on!" he yelled at the walker, which was only a few feet from him now. As it approached, Daryl seemed to be readying himself for something as he was hopping from side to side. And then, just as its spindly fingers grabbed at his jacket, Daryl jumped to the side and shoved it off the roof with his boot. I didn't know whether to be impressed with him or disappointed that I hadn't thought of such a simple thing myself. Regardless, we had to think of the next plan fast before the whole structure went up in flames.

Daryl ran over to the doorway and peered inside again.

"The whole place is on fire!" he yelled, trying to wave some of the smoke away with his hands. I looked back at the fire escape.

"This way!" I called to him and made a run for the railings.

The alley below was mostly clear. Only a handful of walkers had remained after the commotion in the woods. But they were crowded right around the bottom of the ladder, making it impossible to get to the ground safely. I didn't have enough bullets to shoot them all and Daryl had been without his crossbow since the amusement park.

"I'll go first," Daryl said beside me.

"And do what?" I asked. "Kick them?"

"Pretty much," he replied casually, and swung his legs over the edge to the ladder. I followed immediately after him. I wasn't about to watch from the roof as he took them all on alone.

Once we'd gotten halfway down the ladder, one of the walkers discovered it could climb with its hands and feet and started making its way up to meet us. At least one at a time would be easier than trying to kill them all at once.

Daryl stopped and turned himself around, supporting himself on the ladder with his heels and gripping the safety cage that surrounded it with his hands. The walker seemed to be having trouble coordinating its limbs to make it upwards very far, so Daryl stepped down slowly, one rung at a time. I was so worried that he'd slip and fall that I didn't move, only watched as he climbed down step by step. Once he's reached the walker, it started reaching up to him, but as it let go with both hands, it fell a few feet before getting caught on the cage. I started feeling a little claustrophobic. We were caught in a metal tunnel with a walker at one end and a fire at the other. I hoped Daryl's first kick would be swift enough to break the walker's skull.

He didn't seem to have a choice. I watched as he lowered himself down into the walker's reach, its hands grasping at his boots and pantlegs. He shook it off as he took one more step down, but it grabbed him by the ankle again. As the walker pulled itself up to take a bite, Daryl reached down and stuck the fork into its head. When he ripped it back out, the walker stayed where it was, unmoving, its fingers still wrapped around Daryl's leg. He had to kick it a few times with his free leg, but it eventually came loose and fell to the ground below, where the waiting walkers were still grabbing at the air above them. Daryl braced himself against the cage and took a deep breath.

"You okay?" I called down to him as I continued my descent.

"Yeah," he replied.

"What are you gonna do about the rest of them?" I asked, unable to see an easy way to take care of them all.

"How many bullets we got left?" he returned.

"Two."

"Shoot two of 'em."

"It'll make too much noise," I said. "We don't know how many are still around the corner."

He looked up at me. I was surprised he hadn't thought of that little problem himself. "You got a better idea?" he challenged.

"I might," I replied, suddenly getting an idea that could actually work. I climbed down until I was right above him. "The cage gets wider near the bottom," I said. "I can fit between the bars there. I just need to get past you."

"And then what?" he asked, a tone of doubt in his voice.

"Then I'll reach down and stab 'em with this," I said, holding out the stake. "And you stay on the ladder and get the others." He just looked at me for a moment, thinking about my insane plan. "It'll work," I insisted, tucking the stake away again.

"It better," he said, and flattened himself back against the ladder, giving me room to climb past him along the cage.

It wasn't easy. The rails of the cage were made of flat steel that dug painfully into my hands as I supported half my weight on them. Once I was level with Daryl, I turned to face him, hooking my elbows over the rails behind me. There was barely enough space for both of us to fit comfortably. I once again found myself within inches of him, but this time the only thoughts in my mind were of the walkers below.

"Climb down to where the cage ends," I said. "You'll be close enough to reach them."

He nodded. The rail I had hooked my arms around ran right along the middle of my back, but the next one down was the one I was standing on, so I was able to bend slightly and slip sideways between the vertical rails behind me. I was now fully on the outside of the cage, gripping it tightly with my arms. I looked down. There was about fifteen feet of space between me and the ground. Daryl made his way down to the bottom of the cage, where the ladder was no longer protected, just above the walkers' heads.

Slowly, I lowered myself down to crouch on the rail my feet were positioned on. The next one down, the bottom rail, was too far to climb to easily. I lowered one leg down. It didn't even come close. I inched my hands down the vertical rail one by one, lowering my chest closer to my supported knee. My dangling leg still didn't reach. I'd have to jump. I looked down. The next rail was only a foot below my boot. I shook my head, unable to believe what I was about to do. But I took a deep breath before I could think on it any more and in one quick motion, switched my hands to the horizontal rail supporting my foot and let my other leg drop. I tried to slow my short fall by catching myself with my arms, but I wasn't strong enough to support myself, so my arms straightened just as my feet hit the rail below me. A sharp pain stung my palms. The steel wasn't rounded enough for a comfortable grip and the rain had made it slippery. It had no doubt cut right into me as my skin slipped.

Trying to ignore the pain, I lowered myself to the bottom rail and sat on it, my legs resting on the ladder just below Daryl. The walkers' hands were grasping at the air just inches below me. I turned to look at the end of the alley leading out to the street. It looked clear. The five walkers below us were all that was left.

I pulled the stake from my belt and leaned back as far as I could, one hand gripping the vertical rail beside me. Immediately, I plunged the stake into one walker's head and sat back up out of the next one's reach.

"You crazy?" Daryl snapped.

"It worked, didn't it?" I said, straining against the pain in my hands and legs. It was like sitting on the edge of a dull blade. "Come on!" I added, noticing that Daryl hadn't climbed down far enough.

Without arguing again, he climbed down a few more rungs until he was standing on the rung my ankles were hooked under for support. He crouched down, fork in hand, and swung at the nearest walker below the cage. It wasn't easy to miss. They were basically offering themselves up as targets. I had to sit up out of the way of a few sharp fingers, but I managed to stab two more in the head.

Daryl took out the last one with surprising ease and hopped down from the ladder. He looked to the end of the alley, awaiting another wave of walkers, but no such wave came. I slipped back between the rails to the ladder and climbed the rest of the way down.

I dropped the stake to the ground and looked at my hands. Both palms were torn right across the middle. I hadn't even noticed how badly I was bleeding before because the rain was washing it away.

"That don't look good," Daryl observed, stepping over to me. "Better get that wrapped up."

"With what?" I asked. "Everything useful just burned up."

"We better move, then." He started towards the end of the alley and peeked around the corner, then turned back to me and motioned for me to follow him.

The street had cleared out completely, which was hard for me to believe, what with the huge flames flickering out of the front windows of the general store. I guessed the walkers either entered the fire or made off after the men in the woods. Or maybe they'd all been wrangled up by whoever had silenced them. Either way, it didn't matter. They were still out there and Daryl and I had nothing but our weapons.

As we made our way down the street, I looked back at the burning building. It was such a shame to have lost a place like that.

"Hey," I said, catching up to Daryl. "Do you think they were following us? They seemed to know exactly where we were."

"Guess so," he said, scanning the road ahead and the trees on either side of us. "Probably still are."

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. Now that I wasn't fighting off walkers anymore, I'd relaxed a little and realized just how cold I was. I missed the hot water already. I shivered, gripping my hands into fists to slow my bleeding. The cuts throbbed dully with every heartbeat. My head throbbed too.

We walked quietly along the center of the road for awhile, coming across nothing but run down cars and a few little shacks that had already been destroyed by the elements. They were becoming more numerous, though, so I imagined we must be approaching the main part of town. Hopefully there'd be an empty house or something we could take shelter in.

As we came around another bend in the road, Daryl stopped and muttered something that sounded like "Jesus fucking Christ." There, just visible around the edge of the woods, was an enormous parking lot, at the far end of which stood a Costco. I thought for a moment that we'd be completely safe there, with all the crap inside that hopefully hadn't been looted yet.

"They're probably in there," Daryl said quietly. Of course they were. Who would pass up a place like that? He just stood there for a minute, thinking.

"We should find somewhere close to stay," he said finally. "Keep an eye on 'em."

"Do you think the others are in there?" I asked. It would be a perfect place to detain hostages. I just hoped Rick wasn't in there with them. We'd need his help to fight the bastards holding them.

"Maybe," Daryl said. "Rather not find out the hard way." He ducked into the trees on the opposite side of the street. I followed him along the edge of the woods, throwing glances back at the massive building every few steps. If anyone was in there, they would have secured it as tightly as humanly possible to protect against invasion.

I followed Daryl away from the road, further into the trees, until we came across another winding path. The forest was thinner here and there was a crossroads ahead. As we approached, I could make out the street names on the signs. We turned down Whitney Road and passed a few small, run down houses.

I examined my hands again. Blood was starting to drip down to my elbows. I needed to clean and bandage them soon or they could become badly infected.

"Look for some kind of hospital or clinic," I said, trying not to lose hope that such a wonderful thing existed anywhere nearby. "Even a vet's office will do."

"How 'bout an ambulance?" Daryl said. I looked to where he was pointing. There, hidden halfway behind a fence along one of the driveways, was a bright red rig just like the one I'd driven.

"Oh, thank god," I breathed, and quickened my pace to approach it.

"Careful," Daryl said, pulling me back by my shoulder. "Could be someone there."

Slowly, we snuck along our side of the fence and listened for any movement. It was silent, except for the rain tapping the roof of the rig. Daryl stepped slowly around the end of the fence and pulled open the back door. He was met immediately with two hungry walkers, both of their throats in place. He took them out quickly and dragged their bodies out of the truck.

"Come on," he said to me, and climbed inside. I threw a cautious glance at the house the driveway belonged to. It was dark inside, all of the windows shattered and the front door hanging haphazardly off its hinges. It had to be vacant.

I climbed into the rig and pulled the doors shut behind me with my fingertips. I looked around as I caught my breath. The gurney was missing, which allowed for more room on the floor. The walkers that had been trapped in here seemed to have ransacked the place. All sorts of supplies were littered all over the place, including a few syringes and blood packs. Several packs of gauze and bandages had already been torn open, rendering them useless for dressing my wounds.

"I need iodine and clean bandages," I said, searching the shelves and boxes stored above the bench along the side. The pain was getting worse, so I could only use the tips of my fingers to move things aside. Daryl was busy searching the rest of the rig.

"Here," he finally said, holding out a brown bottle.

"Just put it there," I replied, indicating the bench. I couldn't find any unopened packs of gauze, but there was a roll of white bandages buried in one of the boxes. It was unwrapped, but mostly untouched. I lifted it out carefully and placed it beside the bottle of iodine.

"You're gonna have to help me," I said, sitting down on the bench.

I directed Daryl on how to clean and wrap my hands properly, which he managed to do quite well, despite my constant cursing against the pain. He wrapped the bandages so tight my fingers started throbbing, but at least the bleeding had stopped.

When he was done, I sat back, resting my head against the wall behind me. I was still shivering. My clothes had been soaked through completely and were now sticking stubbornly to my skin. Daryl didn't look too warm, either.

"What I wouldn't give for a hot shower right now," I joked, fondly remembering the little apartment.

"Maybe this thing's heater still works," he mumbled and climbed into the front seat. The key wasn't in the ignition, but that didn't stop him from bending down beneath the steering wheel and fumbling around with some wires.

After a few minutes, I heard a tiny pop and the engine sputtered to life.

"Ain't got much gas," Daryl said. "But the heater'll work." He messed with the dials on the dashboard and held his hand over one of the vents. "Get up here."

I climbed into the passenger seat and was immediately met with warm, toasty air. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the seat. My face and hands were warming up nicely, but the rest of me was still wrapped in icy water. Carefully, I peeled my jacket from my shoulders and threw it into the back of the rig. I lifted the fabric of my shirt from where it stuck to the skin of my stomach and chest. Cold as I was, I didn't want to undress completely, but Daryl seemed to know what I was thinking. He looked around the back of his seat and reached for something.

"Here," he said, handing me a thin sheet that was usually used as bedspread for the gurneys.

"Thanks," I said. I pulled my soaked shirt off over my head and wrapped the sheet around myself. I instantly felt warmer and drier, but my jeans were still keeping my lower half ice cold. I decided then that I didn't give two shits about stripping down to my underwear anymore, not when I was this cold. With some difficulty, I managed to pull my boots, socks, and jeans off under the sheet and threw them behind my seat, then I pulled my legs up and wrapped myself up completely. I leaned sideways against the seat, facing Daryl. He was just sitting there, staring out the windshield and holding one hand over a vent.

"Take your clothes off or you'll freeze," I said flatly.

"M'fine," he replied.

I leaned forward to look behind his seat. There were a few more sheets laying there. I pulled one from the pile and tossed it at him.

"I know what I'm talking about," I insisted. "You need to warm up and dry off."

He took the sheet, but instead of doing as I said, he just used it to dry his face and neck.

"Take your goddamn clothes off," I demanded, a little more forcefully this time. "If your temperature drops too low-"

"A'right, fine," he said, and started with his jacket.

"Thank you," I said, and resumed my comfortable position in my seat. I couldn't help watching him undress. _Make sure he obeys,_ I told myself, but I knew that wasn't really the reason I didn't look away. But he only took off his shirt before wrapping the sheet around his shoulders.

"Daryl," I said. "Pants, too."

"Nope," was all he said as he settled into his seat.

"I'll close my eyes, if that's what you're worried about."

"It ain't," he replied indignantly.

"You're gonna get an infection and it won't be pleasant," I stressed. "You know what I'm talking about."

He looked at me from the corner of his eye, registering exactly what I'd said.

"I'm not kidding," I added.

"Fine," he grumbled. I kept my eyes down on the center console as he reluctantly struggled out of his jeans.

"You'll thank me later," I said proudly.

We sat there in silence as the heater warmed us up. I kept my gaze down, fully aware of how uncomfortable he was in just a sheet.

"We gonna sit here till our clothes dry again?" he mumbled after a while.

"Unless you wanna run around in a toga," I replied. It was still raining, though it had slowed to a light drizzle.

"We gotta check out the Costco," he said.

"I agree," I replied. "But we should at least wait till it's dark out. It'll be harder for anyone to spot us."

Daryl considered this for a moment. "That's gonna be awhile."

"We should rest, anyway," I said. "But if it makes you feel better, we can at least work out a plan or something while we're sitting here."


	14. Vigilance

Helloooo! I know it's been *cough*likeayear*cough* since my last update, but this was the most stubborn chapter. I was so conflicted with so many decisions, I ended up just rolling with it. As always, read, review, enjoy! :)

* * *

The sun was beginning to set behind the trees and we still hadn't thought of a plan. I'd found a more comfortable spot in the back of the rig after I'd had enough of the heater. I laid down on the cushy bench and wrapped my sheet tightly around me as I curled myself into a ball. Keeping my eyes open was becoming more and more of a challenge. I was so tired of running and hiding and surviving. I just wanted to sleep in our little apartment above the general store, knowing that we were safe from walkers. I thought of going back there, fortifying it properly, living out our days in comfort. But it was nothing but ashes now, and we still had our people to find.

"Liza." Daryl's voice snapped me back to reality. "You awake?"

I coughed. "Yeah," I said, pushing myself upright and rubbing my eyes. "Sorry."

"It's gettin' dark," he said.

"I know."

I was so warm, so safe under my sheet in this tin box, the thought of putting on my stiff clothes and going back out there made me cringe. I would allow myself five more seconds of being a lazy kid, then I would suck it up and get a move on.

"So what are we gonna do?" I asked. "We have two bullets and a fork."

"Fire," he said.

"What, burn the place down?" I replied. "The others could be in there."

"Not the whole building. Just the front door. Or the roof. Smoke 'em out."

I chewed on my lip, trying to think of all the reasons that this was a terrible idea, but nothing came to mind. "That could work," I finally said. "But we'll need to get close enough without being seen."

"Then we start a fire out in the parking lot. We draw 'em out and get inside."

"How are we gonna set fire to asphalt?" I said. "We don't have a lighter or anything to burn unless you wanna start collecting firewood."

"This thing still has some gasoline in it. We drive it over there and blow up the gas tank."

"Will it be enough?"

"We can siphon more from other cars. And we can search the houses for a lighter."

I tried to picture the whole plan in my head: sneaking around taking gas-how would we carry it?; driving right into the lot-what if they saw us first?; and how would we blow up the tank without blowing ourselves up in the process?

When I turned to Daryl, he was already putting his clothes back on. Then the thought dawned on me that maybe he'd done something like this before. I didn't know what sorts of things he got up to before I met him. Maybe he was military. Or a criminal. A smart one. But I didn't question it. We were at the point where I just had to trust him no matter what and believe that we'd get out alive.

I grabbed my clothes. They were still a little damp, but I didn't care. They'd warmed up quite a bit. When I was fully clothed again, I climbed into the front seat beside Daryl. He was staring out the windshield again, watching the abandoned house.

"What do you think's in there?" I asked, following his gaze.

"Nothin', probably," he replied.

"Couldn't hurt to look," I said.

* * *

The front porch creaked under our weight with each step. I held the gun in my torn hand. The pain had subsided a bit but it still throbbed. Daryl led the way, armed with the two-pronged fork and nothing else. We were taking quite a risk leaving the rig with so little protection.

The inside of the house smelled like dust and ash trays. What little light was left outside cast a dim glow across the rotting furniture through tattered curtains. A small motion caught my attention in the corner of my eye. I immediately aimed my gun in its direction, only to discover that a light breeze had moved the curtains through the broken window, causing the shadows to move as well.

We made our way into the kitchen, which we found completely empty. Even the refrigerator was gone. The cabinets were all bare. Drawers had been pulled out and left on the cracked tile floor. It almost looked like someone had broken in to search for something, but long before the dead started walking. There was no rotting flesh smell. No intruding walkers. This place had been left untouched for a couple years, at least, and if anyone had been here since then, they had left alive.

Daryl kicked the overturned drawers aside one at a time to see if anything useful was hiding underneath. There was just more dust.

The dining room sat at the other end of the kitchen, round table still in place, but all the chairs had been knocked over. The window over the table had been broken as well. A small cabinet sat in the corner of the dining room. The bottom door had been ripped off its hinges, but the top drawer was still intact. I pulled it open.

It was empty. Of course. Daryl appeared beside me and looked into the empty drawer.

"Nothing," I said.

He reached down into the back of the drawer and pressed down, causing the bottom to tilt up, revealing a hidden compartment underneath. He pulled out the false bottom and tossed it aside. Syringes, plastic baggies full of powder, glass pipes, lighters, all sorts of drug paraphernalia littered the little drawer.

Daryl threw me a victorious glance and grabbed a couple of the lighters.

"How did you know that was there?" I asked, unable to believe our luck.

"Use your imagination," he replied, and went back through the kitchen to search the rest of the house.

I followed him back to the living room. There was a short hallway, most likely leading to the bedrooms. There was one door that was smaller than the others, possibly a linen closet. That gave me an idea.

I entered the hallway and pulled open the little door. There wasn't much left, only a rolled up blanket and a few pillowcases. I grabbed two of the pillowcases and tucked them into my belt. I turned around to see Daryl watching me, eyebrows raised.

"What?" I said, stepping past him back into the living room. I'd seen a back door that led to the yard. I wanted to check for a shed.

"What're those for?" he asked, following me out onto the back porch.

"Turn the ambulance into a giant Molotov cocktail," I replied. "Did you expect to just throw a match in there and run?"

Daryl huffed a laugh. "Just didn't think you'd know."

I smirked at him. "It's not exactly a secret tactic."

There was no shed in the back yard, but I noticed some sort of storage closet at one end of the porch. A heavy padlock hung from it, but the wood looked rotted enough to be able to kick through it.

I squared my shoulders, leaned back on one leg, and kicked my heel hard against the door. The wood splintered, but didn't break all the way.

"Watch out," Daryl said, and started kicking it himself. It only took two heavy swings of his boot to collapse the door completely. I looked around the back yard to make sure no wandering walkers had heard the noise. "Shit," Daryl said.

I turned back to the closet. Inside, leaning against the wall, were several large rifles, shovels, and all sorts of dangerous looking weapons.

"Is that a javelin?" I asked, eyeing a long pointed stick. Daryl started pulling everything out of the closet and dumping it on the porch. There were four hunting rifles, three spears, four pointed shovels, two machetes, a bow and quiver full of arrows, a sword, a couple of axes, a pair of sais, a flail, a box of bullets, and a whip. I was at a loss for words. My mouth hung open as I stared stupidly at the pile. Daryl wasn't speaking, either. Just staring.

"Uh-so-should we-" I couldn't get the words out.

Daryl picked up one of the rifles and started examining it. He aimed into the back yard, checked for bullets, looked the whole thing over, then swung the strap over his shoulder. He picked up another one, hanging it from his shoulder as well. Then he grabbed an axe, a machete, and two spears, and tucked the box of ammo under his arm. He stood there looking at me expectantly. I stared at him for a moment, then started grabbing things, too. I hung the whip around my shoulders, tucked the other machete into my belt, along with the sword and flail, slung the other two rifles over my shoulder, and picked up the bow and arrows.

"Who the fuck lived here?" I said as we carefully stepped back into the house. Daryl had to do some expert maneuvering to fit the spears through the doorway. I noticed an overturned bucket that looked like it had been used as an ottoman. I couldn't carry anything else. I'd have to come back for it.

We dumped our spoils in the back of the rig, then hurried back inside the house. I went to grab the bucket while Daryl went back to the porch to retrieve the remaining weapons. When I picked it up, a small mob of roaches scattered away. It took all my willpower to keep from screaming. I jumped up onto the sofa, as if that would protect me from them.

When Daryl came back in, I was still frozen. "You okay?" he asked.

"Roaches," I whispered as I carefully stepped back down onto the contaminated floor.

"That's what you're afraid of?" he replied, amused.

"Yes," I said stubbornly.

"Help me," he said as he pulled the cushions from the sofa and replaced them with the shovels. I grabbed the last spear and the sais and stacked them on top of the shovels. When the rest of the weapons were nicely tucked in place, Daryl pushed the cushions down onto them, hiding them from sight.

Back outside, Daryl took the axe from the rig and started down the street. I followed him with the bucket. At the first car we found, he pulled himself underneath it but came right back out. He did the same with the next two cars.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"Drain plug," he replied. "Can't just hack open a gas tank."

Finally, a few houses down, Daryl found what he was looking for underneath an F150. He tucked the bucket under the truck, which was barely high enough to fit it upright. Then he started hacking at what I assumed to be whatever held the drain plug closed with the axe. Something metal fell to the ground and he immediately pulled the bucket underneath the resulting hole.

"This is gonna take a minute," he said, pulling himself back out from under the truck.

He stood beside me as we scanned our surroundings. It was quiet, except for the wind rustling the trees every now and then.

"You do a lot of drugs before?" I asked, remembering the drawer with the false bottom. I was curious to know more about Daryl as he already knew quite a bit about me.

"Not really," he said.

"Not really?"

"It was my dad and my brother, mostly," he replied.

"They had a lot of clever hiding spots like that?" I asked. He didn't answer. I looked at him to see if it was because he'd spotted something-or someone-but he was still looking into the trees, searching. I decided not to push the subject further. After all, it was none of my business.

"The guy who made you wanna be a paramedic," Daryl said after a silent moment, "what happened to him?"

The question took me by surprise. I didn't think he'd remembered. "I don't know," I replied with a shrug. "We lost touch a long time ago. But he was nice. Why?"

"Must have been a big deal to change your life for him."

"I didn't do it for him," I said. "He just introduced me to a field I'd never thought about before. I'm grateful to have known him. By the way, how's your arm doing?"

"It's fine," Daryl replied.

"Can I see it?" I asked, reaching for the arm in question. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the bandage I'd wrapped around it. "Is this the same one I put on here?" I asked when I saw the state of it. It was torn and tattered, the tape barely holding it together. "Did you shower with this on?"

"I just forgot about it," he replied. "It's fine. Like I said."

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you." I peeled off the weakened tape and carefully peeled the bandage from his skin. The skin underneath was filthy and slick, like he'd been rolling in mud. The scratches themselves had developed thick scabs and the strips holding them shut had all but lost their stickiness as well. "I cannot believe this isn't infected," I said. "Especially since you got it wet."

"I told you," he grumbled.

"I'm cleaning this arm up first thing when we get back to the rig," I scolded.

"No time," he replied. "We need to get goin'."

"You're gonna sit there and let me take two minutes to clean the filth and bacteria off your sliced up arm and you're not gonna say a word about it," I commanded firmly. He rolled his eyes and pulled his sleeve back down before lowering himself to ground. I waited as he wriggled the half-filled bucket out from under the truck.

"That should be enough," he said.

By the time we got back to the rig, the sun had set completely and the only light we had came from the full moon overhead peaking between the parting clouds. The air had cooled considerably, but thankfully it wasn't raining. I wondered how the people up north survived in the snow. Maybe it slowed the walkers down. I hadn't come across any during the Colorado blizzard, but I'd started heading south before I could find out for sure.

"This thing have a hose or somethin'?" Daryl asked as he set the bucket down beside the gas valve.

"Not big enough for this," I replied, searching through the numerous tubes on one of the shelves.

"Just an arrow, then," he said. I pulled one of the arrows from the quiver and met him outside. He already had the valve uncovered, bucket in hand. He took the arrow and stuck it into the valve, pushing open a metal flap. "Hold that there."

I took the arrow and held it where he had it and he started pouring the gasoline directly from the bucket. A good amount of it spilled out onto the ground, but he managed to get most of it into the tank.

"Are you sure that's gonna make a big enough explosion?" I asked.

"It's the fumes, not the liquid," he replied. "This'll work."

I shrugged and pulled the arrow back out. It was dripping wet with gas. I looked at Daryl. "This could be interesting," I said, showing him the soaked arrow.

"It'll dry before we get there," he replied. "And we're outta gas, anyway."

We climbed back into the rig, carefully stepping over our stockpiled arsenal. I sat down beside Daryl on the bench and tucked the arrow away, then grabbed the bottle of iodine and a cotton pad.

"Alright, lemme see," I said, holding out my hand. Daryl rolled up his sleeve with a sullen expression.

"Make it quick," he mumbled.

I carefully peeled off the tape holding the gashes together, then soaked the pad in iodine and started wiping away the dirt.

"What about yours?" Daryl asked.

"My what?"

"Your hands."

"They still hurt a bit," I said. "But they've only been wrapped up a few hours."

"Can you handle a weapon?"

"Rifle. Bow and arrow, maybe," I said, looking down at the pile. "Everything else needs too much grip. But if I need to, I'll suck it up. If the others are in there, it won't matter."

Daryl nodded. "So we just gonna drive it out there, blow it up, and start shootin' whoever comes out?"

I shook my head slowly, thinking. There were too many ways a plan that simple could go wrong. "Did you notice the trees along the lot?" I asked, trying to remember.

"Why?"

"If we can climb into them easily, we can stay hidden and snipe them," I said.

"'Till one of 'em sees us," Daryl replied. "Then we're stuck."

"Not if we use the guns as little as possible. Arrows are dark and silent."

"And when we run out?"

"Then guns. And if we need to, we climb down to fight."

"We don't even know if our people are in there," Daryl countered. "It'd be stupid to start fightin' them for nothin'."

"Then we need to find out if they are."

* * *

The rain had stopped, but the ground was still riddled with puddles and walking across the dirt was like stepping on a sponge. It was impossible to move in complete silence, especially without the rain to drown out the sound of our footsteps, but at least the trees along the parking lot hid us from sight well enough.

In the darkness, we hid behind two trees right along the asphalt. The sky had not yet cleared up, keeping us in perpetual blackness, our only source of light one of the lighters Daryl had found which he flicked on only a few seconds at a time.

We peered around the trees at the sprawling building. It looked like a vessel floating on a dark sea. A single window cast a dim light across the lot, illuminating only the nearest bit of ground. Something moved in the darkness near the front door, slowly and without aim. Probably a walker.

"Someone's in there," I whispered, eyeing the lit window. I fixed my gaze on it, waiting for some sign of movement, maybe a shadow, but I remained disappointed.

"This way," Daryl murmured, and started moving along the treeline. I followed him silently until we had reached the side of the building. There was only a narrow walkway between our hiding spot and a metal door leading to the inside. It looked like the knob was missing. We stood completely still, listening for any sign of life, but there was nothing. How smart would it be to enter this enormous building which could be harboring an army, for all we knew?

I looked at Daryl. He seemed to be fixated on the door. "What are you thinking?" I asked him.

He remained quiet for a moment, then said, "We should check it out."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I countered. "We don't know how many of them are in there."

"What else would you suggest?" he said. "Wait 'till they find us?"

"I don't know," I replied apprehensively. "What happened to the ambulance bomb?"

He turned to face me straight on and looked down at me. "Stay out here and keep watch then. I'm going in." Before I could argue again, he was moving stealthily to the metal door, rifle loaded and ready. He crouched down to peer through the hole where the handle should have been. Curiosity get the better of me. Slowly, I stepped across the walkway to join him at the door.

"What do you see?" I whispered.

"Nothin'," he replied, straightening back up. I looked up at his face. He seemed conflicted. I knew how badly he wanted to find the group, his family, especially after the disappointment of losing Rick once again. It wasn't fair that we'd made it this far in freedom when the others were probably still being held captive, if they were even alive.

I pushed those awful thoughts from my mind. They would do me no good now. "Let's go, then," I said, nodding at the door. I figured some resolve on my end might help ease his uncertainty.

He looked back at me, brow furrowed. "Thought this was a bad idea," he muttered.

"I think sneaking in to see who we're up against might not be the worst idea," I replied. "Besides, if there's only a few of them we won't have to destroy the rig at all." I pulled my own rifle from my back and held it ready. This seemed to work. Daryl turned to the door. He pulled at it by the knobless opening, slowly and steadily, then peeked inside. From where I stood I could see only darkness.

He looked back at me and nodded, then stepped inside.


End file.
